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"Jamais jo n'al tant pcnse, tant existo, tant v6ca, tant 6t^ mol, si j'ose 
aicuil dire, qae dans Ics voyages que j'ai faits seal, ct 4 i>ie(L'' 

J. J. Eousseat:. 



XEW YORK: 
JOHN F. TROW, PRINTER, 50 GREEXE STREET. 

1863. 



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THE ACTBOB, 



PEEFACE. 

THE AUTHOE TO THE BOOK. 

Now that the time has come when you are to strike 
out alone into a public life, perhaps a few words of 
honest talk between us may not be amiss. 

But, firstly, it must be understood that our connec- 
tion is broken ; and you, in venturing from obscurity into 
an open field of criticism and remark, do so wholly at 
your own responsibility. Whatever opinions you may 
advance are yours only ; whatever of sentiment you 
may show is yours entirely. Because I may have agreed 
with you yesterday, you do not know at all that I would 
do so to-day. You go, I repeat, you go alone, relying 
on yourself for position and character. 

I know very well that you are willing to venture 
thus. Strong in your youth, you believe yourself able 
to catch the world by its forelock, and sustain yourself 
always with a vigorous arm. Others like yourself, you 
say, have vigorously attempted, and surely won an easy 
success. " Why not I ? The world of to-day is tlie 



VI PREFACE. 

same as that of yesterday. I know its turnings ; young 
though I be, I have often grappled with it, always to 
make it do my will. I laugh at it ; I defy it ; or, I reach 
toward it the hand of friendship, with a warm word. 
The result is the same. The world is my friend, has 
always been, shall always be." 

Ah ! my foolish book ; foolish in your wisdom ; 
more foolish in your folly ! If you get any hold, to help 
you, upon the world you speak of, it must be always 
maintained by the power that comes from prosperity, 
or, better yet, that which comes from real worth. 
Whatever influence you have seen in the sphere you 
have moved in, has come, I fear, all come from the 
first; I tell you that prosperity may fail you at any 
moment; is almost sure to fail you, when you will 
almost as surely get borne into the current and drown- 
ed. But of this you run your own risk. I will say 
no more. 

Well, you are going into the world, the varying world, 
and there, — I trust now to the power of your arrogance, — 
you will be taken, perchance, among others, by the girl of 
riches and of fashion, who indolently yawns through a 
lingering day, and sighs for the waltz of the evening, that 
alone can arouse her worthless fancies. Tell her that her 
life is a wretched farce ; tell her that she herself is a mis- 
erable failure ; a pitiful substitute for a girl, to become 
a yet more pitiful substitute for a woman. The press 



PREFACE. Vll 

of her hand is a mockery ; the touch of her waist a 
sorrowful jest/ The bloom of her youth, both in mind 
and in body, has been blighted by its contact with a 
fashionable mother's boudoir; by the following of a 
fashionable city boarding-school education. It was Sir 
Walter Scott, I think, that said, " There were none truly 
vulgar but the rich." This young woman of inexcusable 
uselessness shall surely win the prize of extreme vul- 
garity. 

Tell her once more, that there are homes of sick- 
ness and sorrow, within ten minutes' walk of her ; that 
by a single effort she can carry to them priceless com- 
forts, and in one short hour change herself into a minis- 
tering angel of good ; a lovely, loving, Christian woman. 

You shall be handled, — still do I trust to the power 
of your arrogance, — ^by the girl of wealth, who throws 
herself constantly and zealously into every frivolity, and 
yet does not, because she caimot, quite surrender all the 
rights of her soul. She floats in golden beauty through 
luxurious halls. In haughty pride she reigns wherever 
she is, the queen of the day, the belle of the night. 
Softly falls the robe of her dress upon velvet floors ; 
chastely glitter the pearls, brilliantly sparkle the dia- 
monds about her person. 

Perhaps she will take you to her own room, — I trust 
now to the power of your passion, — and let you lie upon 
her lap as she tosses your leaves. Tell her that you 



Vm PREFACE. 

think so rich and pretty a girl as she ought to wear a 
very pretty petticoat. She may frown at you, but I 
think she will not. There are hours when such a maid- 
en lays aside all frowns ; moments when she lets the 
fondest wishes of her heart be realized in girlhood's 
dreams. Do thou whisper, while she dreameth ; that 
truth is true, that honesty is true, that charity is true, 
that goodness is true, and that she was right when she 
attempted to assert it yesterday, — love is true. 

But from the silent re very of her room she will arise 
to disrobe herself for the night. The haughty conscious- 
ness of her beauty shall return. With the scorn of 
many triumphs on her lips, will she unloosen her costly 
jewels ; with the stern pride of a conquering belle, will 
she unfasten her rich dresses. Thy seeming want of 
consciousness shall now protect thee rarely. When 
one after another of her garments has yielded to her 
fair hands ; w^hen covered with the thin drapery of night 
she sleepeth ; do thou whisper of an ardent lover, bold 
enough to dare to woo, and impudent enough to expect, 
as a matter of course, to win her for his bride. 

Thou shalt be read, — I trust now to the power of thy 
sympathy, — thou shalt be read by the country maiden 
of healthy thoughts and loving heart. The apple that 
hangs froni her garden tree cannot show a brighter color 
than her cheeks; the waving fields of rye cannot be 
more pliant than her graceful form. I know her 



PREFACE. IX 

laugh, it is always hearty. I know her smile, it is 
always cheery. The pressure of her hand is a joy for- 
ever. Her waist never gets held in the waltz, but 
lingering where the brooks flow, will she roguishly yield 
to a lover's arm ; hesitating where the berries ripen, she 
never chides a lover's kiss. An honest girl, she gives an 
honest heart. With the old song will I exclaim : 

" Lightsome be her care." 

Thou wilt be looked at, — I trust now to the influ- 
ence of your information, — thou wilt be looked at by 
the man of business. Practically he will turn thy 
leaves, wondering at thy want of business faculty. A 
shiftless book ! — he will go to exclaim. But do thou 
be true to thy principles. Tell him, you would rather 
have the love of the girl, that he left years ago among 
the clover fields upon her farm, than all the wealth he 
has since gained. 

An independent mind is all that we want; with 
wealth should that chance be, or e'en with poverty : 

" On braes when we please, then, 
We'll sit and sowth a tune ; 
Syne rhyme till 't, we'll time till 't. 
And sing 't when we hae done." 

Thou wilt be read, perhaps, by the college boy, — I 
trust now to the power of thy sympathy, — robust in 



X PEEFACE. 

youth ; strong in passion. Tell him that the years he 
lives now are the heartiest of liis life. Bid him to strive 
in studies, if that be his delight ; or let him fling care 
away, and in the ardor of youth take its amusements. Full 
of frolic, his laugh and his joke are always ready among 
his class. His heart, an honest one, never quails. To 
the picnic he goes, to win and to enjoy ; at the dance he 
comes the boldest. 'Tis a strong hand he gives to lead, 
and his eye flashes on the girl that he bears through the 
hall. Jealousy he scorns; what others do he never 
questions : but, I know it well, Nelly felt her hand press- 
ed a dozen times before that cotillon ended, and she 
wonders on her pillovr that night if he could have 
thought she pressed back. Oh ! the world was all so 
bright, it seemed so queer anybody should ever be sad. 
She yields her head close to the pillow, and sleeps, — 
a smile upon her cheek, and a tear within her eyelids. 

Tell the college boy to use well the strong arm of 
his manhood. Let him be true to his mother's love ; let 
him be careful of his Nelly's heart. And hope shall 
always keep with him to tell of days of happiness ; and 
the world shall offer no obstacle that his bold spirit will 
not conquer. 

It may be, — I trust to the power of thy fancy, — it 
may be thou wilt be glanced at by the child of tender 
years ; the sweet young girl that floats about our streets 
in summer, in light garments, softly as a thistle down, 



PEEFACE. XI 

and chastely as a beautiful cloud : or, the growing boy, 
that begins now first to dream of his manhood, and to 
slight sometimes, I fe:ir, the counsels of his home. Tell 
them both, — it is a great truth, grand for a child to 
hear, — that the fear of God is the beginning of wisdom. 
Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and 
thy neighbor as thyself. 

Childhood is an ever-pleasing theme. We love to 
think of it when we grow dull from useless thoughts ; we 
love to watch it when our hearts would grow heavy 
from fading hopes. The child is prone to slight the 
future and the past ; it rejoices in the moments that go, — 
as the swallow that flies on restless wing, as the bobo- 
link that w^arbles in constant song. Gathering dande- 
lions or plucking sweet peas, is equally a delight. The 
girl is the happiest of matrons with her little tea-set : 
the most exacting; of mothers with her doll. And the 
boy never shall know a greater freedom than he feels 
with his feet bare for the first time in early summer. 
Then, the proud consciousness of owning a fish pole, or of 
being able to go on skates ; of shooting with a bow and 
arrows, that you bargained for from a genuine squad of 
dusky Indians, who came roving through the country ! 
How carefully we used to fashion and paste the kite, 
that should fly so far up in the blue heavens, and receive 
there from along the bending twine the dusty pasteboard 
messengers ; or, trusted with a gun, how perseveringly 



Xll PEEFACE. 

we used to roam through a dozen woods in search of 
squirrels ; and, whilst you rested upon some friendly rock, 
then a boy, as often since a man, did you dream, keeping 
for you a wondrous quiet connection with the always 
sober and reflecting heavens. 

'Tis the fault of thy race, Sir Book, to grow prosaic. 
Is it mine, or yours, here in the preface 1 

Go thou and win the child's esteem. A generous 
soul will surely do it ; if you cannot show that, heaven 
forbid to thee a longer life ! 

Thou wilt be received, — I trust now to the tendency 
thou hast ever shown to confide in a woman's love,— 
thou wilt be received by the matron of ripe years and 
motherly care. In the nature of her soul, for she cannot 
help it, she will be kind to thee, whenever in sincerity 
thou demandest it as thy right or as thy hope. How- 
ever useless has been your life ; however far have been 
your wanderings ; however great may have been your 
sins; they will all be forgotten by her, that moment 
that you come to her as a child cometh, or as a man, 
strong-willed and self-reliant but wanting a woman's 
sympathy. She may have spoken of thy worthlessness 
yesterday ; she has forgotten it to-day. No arguments 
can unshake the new-born hopes she has in thee. Ah ! 
mayst thou grow worthy of this latest friend ! 

Perhaps, by a curious chance, thou wilt be taken up 
by the aged. Trembling in years must they wonder at 



PREFACE. Xlll 

thy boyish folly. Eternity to them is nearer than the 
pleasures of their youth ; you, I fear, have thought little 
of its endless space. Well, I do not mean to preach a 
sermon ; time shall do that far better than I. And I 
will leave you now to the months just before you. 

'Tis a brave heart that never fliints ; tis a wondrous 
wit that always jests ; 'tis a strong man that tires not, 
a curious one that is ever successful : may yours be 
that part. Go, earn thy living on a busy world ; go, win 
a wreath to crown thy Jessie's bower ; go, little book, 
and carelessly — mayst thou have great Victory. 



INTEODUCTIOlsr. 



" V^rmoimt State ; 'tis a mountaynioue place, but there's a stiff soil, 
and it's pretty ruucli wooded ■with beech and maple." 

We've got a baby at our house. If you have got 
one too, you know what a serious article it is, always 
looking upon the earnest side. Ours, although one of 
the prettiest of babies, will disfigure its baby face oc- 
casionally with a mournful twist, which foretelleth a 
squall. 

" That child will have enough to answer for," said 
John the other day at supper, when the baby protested 
more energetically than usual against the difficulties of 
life. 

" That child is my niece," I replied half earnestly. 
" She doesn't know what sin is yet. There is no vanity 
upon her soul ; no frivolity about her brow ; no long- 
continued, unnatural denial of her Creator to be an- 
swered for." I paused, when some new thoughts came 
to me, and I continued : " By the way, I am going to 
New York to-morrow." 

" For a wife? " said John. 

" She were better found here," I replied. 



XVI INTEODUCTION. 

" Found here as well as anywhere ! you'll never 
be married." 

" Sha'n't I ? " 

" Never. You are a dreamer, besides being as fickle 
as a humming bird." 

" ' I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls, 
With vassals and serfs by my side, — ' 

And that makes me think, — I want a cup of tea." 

At the Trov House, Troy. ) 
May 18, 1863. J 

Left home at fifteen minutes to one, stopping an 

instant to see S , to leave with him a subscription 

paper, with a dollar yet uncollected. The engine whis- 
tled as we tarried, and a little shower appeared to go 
with us to the depot. 

Moving over the road, not as they used to come, 
do fancies come upon me, but I like it — the change — 
although it is a gloomy day of dreary showers, and 
although a dim sense of things not done that I ought 
to do, or of thoughts conceived that I ought not to 
meddle with, intensifies within me the gloom that reigns 
without. 

As we wind through the valley of Otter Creek, we 
notice the tops and branching limbs of many trees bent 
off", the result of a great ice storm last winter. A sleepy 
pen cannot paint at all the changing beauties of Green 
Mountain scenery. There are meadow lands to lie along 
its rivers ; there are rolling uplands, and deep made 
valleys, to diversify its mountains. I saw the most 
closely in passing a ledge of woods, where in pro- 



mTKODTJCTION. XVU 

fusion white trilium bloomed, and honeysuckles fell. 
Shadblows and wild cherries were also, the whole dis- 
tance, mixed in with the woods, or edges of woods. 

Very much of the extreme mountain scenery, fully 
Alpine in its look, that lies near to the railroad, between 
Rutland and North Bennington, is unusually perfect. 
One place especially suggested itself to me, as the 
" sweet Auburn " of all this region — Arlington — a single 
street with handsome dwellings, and a stone church that 
had a very English look. We passed one other co- 
quettish valley with a single farmhouse in it, just after 
leaving Bennington ; then came to the distant view in 
New York State, from above Lansingburg. 

May 19. Steamboat Armenia. ) 
Alongside the Wharf at Albany. J* 

I fear Miss Jessie won't get on this morning. It's 
a great mistake of hers. If any girl ought to go to 
New York to-day, it's Jessie ; her mother should have 
known it, and those thin dresses of hers, that were 
all ready for a little sun, and a good deal of flirtation, 
should have been packed for a Spring vacation. 

Later. — Our company gathers fast. Among them 
are two of Jessie's cousins, and, as I write, the Calliope 
is playing a well known negro melody. 

" I guess I'll stay up here." 

It's Jessie, by George, just come, that says it ; as 
she bids good-by to her cousins. I guess I'm glad 
of it. 

The last bell strikes, like the first bell of a Sunday 
morning ; to follow it, the Calliope starts a new melody, 
that might be a dance, or a Methodist hymn. Yet an- 



XVlll INTRODUCTION. 

other tune — I like it ! My thoughts float splendidly 
away over the hills of boyhood, to linger where fancies 
were the fondest. 

O Jessie, Jessie ! the Jessie of memory and song ! 

The boat bell tolls. I hear the hissing of steam. 
It wants two minutes of nine. We shall be off shortly. 
Jessie has just sat down near me. Heaven forgive the 
look I gave her, if there were any sin in it. She's gone 
off now, through the cabin to the front, and we get an- 
other tune from the Calliope — Jessie's March by Von 
Weber. 

The engine flings itself, and we go — the Calliope, I, 
and Jessie, down the river. I think I will step out to 
see Albany. 

Albany we have left upon its hills, together with 
the summer houses that lie near to it. Back again upon 
the sofa in the cabin, I will sketch Jessie ; who has also 
returned, and sits on an opposite sofa to mine. She has 
sandy hair — all Jessies have — and red lips, and a pretty 
tongue that she keeps nibbling, and a pretty foot that 
just jDceps out from beneath her dress. Her form 
rounds handsomely ; and she herself is as well looking 
as any Jessie need to be. Now comes the dress : a 
checkered lawn, is it ? or gingham, white and black and 
gray, with large checks ; and a checkered shawl, all wool, 
rather small checks ; and a pair of slate color (I hope, 
for the sake of truth) kid gloves ; and a largish bonnet, 
brown, with some lace facings, and a blue bow, with a 
bit of artificial grass inside. Her parasol is underneath 
her dress. She keeps reading, whilst I sketch ; I hope 
she isn't mad about it. 



INTEODUCTION". XIX 

In eight of "West Point. 

There may be, I guess there is, some very handsome 
scenery about, but Jessie's gone ; she got off at New- 
burgh. Before she got off, she told me we were just 
coming to the finest scenery, and that it was very fine. 
But if so, why did she get off at Newburgh? There's 
something wrong ; evidently there's something wrong ; 
it's all wrong. By Jove, vt] Ata, — that's classical, a 
sort of guide post that used to appear in Xenophon, — 
it's as bad as it can be. I guess I never shall be mar- 
ried, if all the Jessies stop at Newburgh. I'll go and 
talk to this Scotch woman — I think she is, by her accent. 

Un re/our. Sitting-room of boat. ) 
One hour from New York, Thursday evening, j 

When the time is fully come for the steamer to 
depart, we often read how there alway appears some 
wandering man, with floating bundles and a heavy 
valise. He drifts upon the dock, and hurriedly asks a 
little boy that assaults him w^ith the evening paper, 
and half a dozen Irish women that surround him with 
oranges, " Six for a quarter, sir," and a hackman who 
persistently offers a hack for the city : Where is the 
leaving boat? Perhaps partly answered, he wheels 
about, catches sight of the w^ell filled decks and moving 
planks, and, with one final rally, rushes on board. 

There was just such a character to-night. In every 
way he well sustained the known vagaries of his friends. 
He appeared at twenty minutes past six (boat adver- 
tised to sail at six). He had, in addition to the usual 
basfiraire, a lar^e collection of verbenas. He L;oked 
tired ; he looked hot ; he looked painfully perplexed ; 



XX IKTEODrCTIOlT. 

but he felt mad. I know how he felt ; I may as well 
admit it, — the late fellow to-night was myself. This 
being so, I am able to give his afternoon's preparation. 

At half-past four, in Thirteenth street, enjoying the 
harmony of a dentist's file, as he slowly polished the 
afternoon's work. 

" Most done, Doctor 1 " 

"I could expend a little more time profitably, in 
smoothing this last filling ; it's smooth now, but it's 
a nice job, and I like to finish it nicely," — hanging to 
the tooth and reaching for another file. 

"Doctor, is there danger of its coming ouf?" 

"No, that isn't possible; it is perfectly smooth, 
only I can polish." 

" Only I can't wait." 

"When I was in the street again, the houses faded 
by me, as though I rode in an express train, until I had 
entered No. 50 Greene street. If I gave a lingering 
glance toward one house in Clinton Avenue, to forget 
the busy life always before me, it was doubtless as a 
dreamer — hey, Jessie ! 

" You are not going to leave me, are you % " 

" No." 

"What are all those fixings on your sleeve for?" 
I asked years ago, in our choir, of a girl that was always 
beautiful. 

" For you to look at," she replied, with a delicious 
smile that bothered me for weeks. 

At twenty minutes past five, the arrangements for 
the publication of the book were completed ; twenty 
minutes later, I bent over my valise in Brooklyn. 

" Why, Joe, you are not going to-night 1 " 



INTKODUCTION. XXI 

" Yes, I am." 

" But you can't, it's too late." 

But I can, time enough, always time enough ; there, 
we are packed, if the thing will shut. Where's your 
mother? Tell her I am going. Confound this lock! 
Click 1 Voila! 

It was seventeen minutes past six when we com- 
menced the little run, down Liberty street, that brought 
us to the wharf. One of the boats was gone, but the 
other still w^aited for passengers to Albany. 

Oh, dear ! I'm sleepy. Are the stars shining, I 
"wonder 1 It is ten minutes past nine. There are two 
Jessies within as many feet of me — somebody's Jessies, 
looking over books ; and a little girl on my right says : 
" I had a bowl of milk, and I gave a spoonful of milk 
to the dog." 

Monday Evening. ? 
At Home. \ 

Moonlight among the Highlands we had, as our 
boat came up the river, and the moon for quite a dis- 
tance rolled like a ball of fire along the mountain edge. 
The lights upon Cozzens' Hotel glittered down upon us. 
The dark outline of mountains then faded into the low- 
lands that border the river above the Highlands. 

From Albany to Whitehall, through Saratoga, there 
is but little pleasing to the eye, unless it pleases from its 
dreariness, and sullen lack of cultivation. Saratoga itself 
comes, in its gaiety and jauntiness, a relief. At White- 
hall we commence the tour of Lake Champlain. To 
you, w^ho are merely a traveller of pleasure, making a 
summer trip, the ride is only one of handsome farm 
and mountain scenery, that perfects itself into a picture 



XXll mXKODUCTIOK. 

of most wondrous beauty, when you near the broad 
lake. To me, who have been so much a wanderer, it 
comes in its home influences to chasten, and I do not 
care that there shall be beauteous outlines ; I watch the 
small white birches that shiver their leaves close over 
the lake ; I look upon some lazy cows that stand half 
leg deep in the water ; on sheep picking their living on 
the already browned pastures : it makes no difference 
what I see, the effect is the same. I love every inch of 
that land ; thank God, I love it as I did in my boyhood. 
A little drift of low mountain shows now dimly, till 
the whole eastern range lies lingering in the mist. My 
hand clasps the railing, just as though it held a young 
girl's hand. There they are, the mountains of my 
home; yes, there they are, always the same. Years 
with me have blighted many a hope, have dimmed 
many a boyish dream, have taken from the fresh aspi- 
rations (I am sorry for it, but I fear it's true) of child- 
hood all their rosy tinge, but our mountains catch the 
clouds, or rest in sunlight ; as they did when I was a boy. 

" I wad hae putten on a cap, sir," said Jeanie, " but 
your honor kens it isna the fashion of my country for 
single women; and I judged, that, being sae mony 
hundred miles frae hame, your grace's heart wad warm 
to the tartan," loolcing at the corner of her plaid. 

" You judged quite right," said the duke. " I know 
the full value of tlie snood ; and MacCullim ore's heart 
will be as cold as death can make it, when it does not 
warm to the tartan," 

As we glide along the well Imown shore, each land- 
ing place lingers like some flxding dream, as if I had not 
yet left it nor lived the last few years. 



INTEODUCTION. XXIU 

" Hurrah for the Adirondac school-marm ! " cried 
Fred, upon yon height, as we returned from a college 
vacation trip among the Adirondacs, now five years 
ago. 

Aye, three cheers for the gold curls that fell upon 
her low-neck dress, and three times three for our own 
mountains once more, with the girls they nourish — 
yours, Fred, and mine ! " 

The broad lake — Burlington — five hours delay, — 
we leave in the night train, arriving home at eleven. 

Branching away with the warm fragrance of this 
summer afternoon, my thoughts float to our mountains, 
to close with another song to their memory. 

Come to the green woods, come with me, 
Sweet Bertha, daughter of the North ; 

My little girl that roguishly 
Used always with me wander forth, 

To pick gay flowers, or berries red, 

Or silent take kisses instead. 

The lassie's caught her bonnet brown, 

That hung against the cottage wall ; 
She's tied her wayward curls all down, 

And with her light dress gently fall- 
ing round her form ; in pleased delight 
She leads, and says she's ready quite. 

On through the pasture fields the^ move, 
That deck so fair New England hills ; 

By sheep and cows that lazy rove. 
Until they reach the quiet rills, 

Where timorous violets dare to show • 

Their little flowers, 'midst grass that grow. 



XXIV mTPvODTJCTION. 

Here first I thought the eager eyes 
Of girlhood trembled pensively ; 

Here first I thought some timorous sighs 
Dared rise in haste, and carelessly ; 

As reaching o'er to pick, she said, 

How beautiful these flowers were made. 



'» 



How beautiful these flowers were made, 
To chastely deck a rustic field ; 

No blossoms of a richer shade 

Could bonny grace more artless yield ; 

The yiolets bright were made for me, 

I love them for their modesty. 

I love them for their timorous worth, 
I love them for their beauty bright ; 

I love them for their lonely birth, 
I love them for their pensive light ; 

I love them for their chastity, — 

I love them for their constancy. 

The cool stream flows in smoothness by, 
Reflecting shades, reflecting sky ; 

Reflecting all the touching bushes, 
Reflecting now the maiden's blushes, 

So bashfully that dared to rise 

Beneath the trembling of her eyes. 

Full many an hour, an evening hour, 
When stars are brightly in the sky, 

Beguiled by their entrancing power. 
Will lovers linger in the rye ; 

But now, with day above, below, 

You're right, my girl, 'twill never do. 

But when they reached the beechen wood, 
That gently swelled the mountain side, 

The maiden loosed a smile she could 
Or cared not longer now to hide ; 

And raised her dress from off the moss. 

And did it with a pretty toss 



INTRODUCTION. XXV 

Of her young head, that carelessly 

Rested again, till modestly 
She glided through the tangled briers. 

Though crimsoning hues, from love -lit fires, 
Came o'er her face in wandering flush. 
To gather in a lovely blush. 

Now blushes come from many a cause, 

From sudden start, or awkward pause ; 
From look too quick, or word too free, 

Or some fair limb shown suddenly ; 
But when they come like this, I know 
The girl thinks that she would not show. 

And then she looked so curiously 

Upon the ground, that soberly 
Lay softened in the shaded light, 

And darkened by the mimic night 
Of sinking ferns, and rising wood, 
Of leafy boughs, and solitude. 

Within that mountain wood all nigh, 

A mountain stream went drifting by ; 
The pebbles of its bed below 

Were smoothly white as crystal snow ; 
Its waters, cold, wet mosses lined, 
And dark high hemlocks intertwined. 

Near to its bank, on sullen rock. 

Then gently fell the maiden's frock ; 
All full of life she sitteth there. 

The riplets sweeping o'er her hair, 
Luxuriant that fell below 
Upon her neck of spotless snow. 

As billows to the storm's low call. 

Her bosom's rise, her bosom's fall ; 
Her blue eye clear, triumphant roams. 

Success her bold young spirit crowns, 
And her fair foot goes peeping out. 
To watch the touching ferns about. 



XXTl INTEODIJCTION. 

It was a pretty foot, no doubt, 
To show itself in that wild route ; 

She was a roguish maid, I ween, 
To flirt so with the forest green ; 

Hers was a waist that you might hold, 

Were you her lover warm and bold ! 

Ah, yes, perhaps ! — The rock that lies 
All bare upon the mountain side, 

Beneath the blue, the bright blue skies, 
Or shaded by dark clouds that glide ; 

Looks down upon the lovers now, — 

Looks down upon the world below : 

On rising hill, on feathery wood, 
On gurgling rill, on gloomy road, 

On softened fields, on bending river, 
On shining lake, on homes that ever 

Clothe themselves in bright array 

Spring, Summer, Fall, or Winter day. 

But one among them doubly bright, 
Lies nestled in the mountain shade ; 

And plants serene, and flowers light 
Are opening in its fragrant glade ; 

And beauty, mirth, and passion dwell 

Here, with the girl they love so well : 

Here with the girl they love, but now 
She lingers on the mountain wild ; 

And lone winds kiss her arching brow 
Whilst she delayeth as a child, — 

Or is it as a vain coquette, 

That, thoughtlessly, she lingers yet ? 

She lingers through a dying day, 
She lingers in the soft twilight ; 

Oh ! seldom from her home away 
Doth she thus wander ; and the night. 

With twinkling stars and crescent moon, 

Shall fall upon these dark woods soon. 



INTRODUCTION. XXVll 

Ail ! well I fear, the lover old, 

Whom iu respect she used to know ; 
To whom a child she always told 

Each coming joy, each fancied woe ; 
Hath found her only fonder grown, 
By fleeting years that since have flown. 

Ah ! well I fear, the rugged flush. 

That watcheth ever o'er her cheek, 
Is lost now in the deeper blush 

Of love ; that rises with the freak 
Of massive cloud, to summer sky, 
"Where it long resteth gorgeously. 

Ah ! well I fear, few doubts she knows 

Tor him who roams with her to-day ; 
Ah ! well I fear, he rudely throws 

His arm around her ; and doth say 
Unmeaning words of tenderness. 
With rough embrace, and rude, rude kiss. — 

Birdie, come home ! we wait the hour, 
That brings thee back again once more, 

To govern iu thy silent power 

Our hearts that love thee ; now, before 

The shades of night triumphant roam, 

From mountain haunt, — Birdie, come home ! 

Birdie, come home ! unquiet we rest. 

We're watching for thy footstep free ; 
We wait the girl that we love best, 

We're waiting, dearest child, for thee, 
And tremble at the wind's low tone, 
Fearing for thee, — Birdie, come home ! 



XXVlll INTEODIJCTION. 

Birdie, come home ! swift, swift is the evening, 
Bringing ten thousand gay stars to the skies ; 

Doubtless thou'rt safe beneath their bright gleaming, 
Forever coquetting with thy laughing eyes ; 

But lonesome are we, love, whenever you roam, 

Then away from their praises, dear Birdie, come home ! 

Away from their praises, from their flashes too eager, 
Bold, bold do they grow, in the deep shaded night ; 

More frequently kissing the beautiful Bertha, 
Coquetting, they think, she'll soon yield to them quite ; 

Coquetting they'll find she'll soon leave them alone. 

To laugh at their kisses again at her home. 

For thou knowest, my Bertha, that long might you rove 
Ere contentment so pure should again to thee come, 

Or the smiles of thy life so happy should prove, 
As the smiles of the past have been in thy home ; 

Loving everything bright, thou passest each day, 

Loving everything right, thy life goes away. 

And yet if thou wishest a lover to gain, 

To hold thee his darling, to call thee his wife ; 

If loving as lovely, thou 'dst aye be his ain. 

Through the fond rolling years of a gathering life ; 

Success will I wish thee, howe'er long you roam. 

But success having crowned thee, come back to thy home ! 



A footfall presses on the rye. 
Treading it down destructively ; 

A footfall lingers on the rye, 

Breaking it down most ruthlessly ; 

A footfall trembles on the rye. 
Bending it down uncaringly. 

Bertha cometh through the rye, 
'Neath the starlight haltingly ; 



INTEODUCTION. XXIX 

Bertha glideth through the rye, 

'Neath the starlight pensively ; 
Bertha floateth through the rye, 

'Neath the starlight quietly. 

Doth the glow upon the rye 

Keflect dimly, 
Do the waves upon the rye 

Sweep silently. 
Doth the stream among the rye 

Sound dreamily ; 

In the night, my Birdie ? 

Doth thy ankle 'mongst the rye 

Kest charmingly, 
And thy dress o'er the rye 

Float triumphantly, 
And thy foot upon the rye 

Press wantonly ; 

In the night, my Birdie ? 

An arm 's around thy waist, 

Take care. Bertha ! 
Will he dare to taste 

Thy lip. Bertha ? j 
Hath he dared to press 

Thy hand, Bertha ? 

The dress above thy breast 

Is very thin, Birdie ; 
The light, the cool starlight, 

Is very dim, Birdie ; 
The world, the wicked world. 

Is prone to sin, Birdie ; 
beware ! 



XXX INTEODUCTIOi;r. 

He tells you that he loves you, 
Does he not, Bertha ? 

You think his words are true, 
Do you not, Bertha? 

You have said you loved him, too. 
Have you not. Bertha ? 

Was he always bold and honest. 
Are you sure, Bertha? 

Was he always kind and thoughtful, 
Dost remember. Bertha ? 

Will he surely rule himself 
At all times. Bertha ? 

You have given him your troth ! 

So I thought, Birdie ; 
And will soon be his wife ! 

So I feared. Birdie ; 
A loving, useful wife ! 

So I hope. Birdie ; 
Yes, I hope : 

TThen may a happy peace arise, 
Above a new formed home ; 

And may a hopeful life, in guise 

. Of Christian virtue, come ; 

May years float on unconsciously. 
In joy and comfort given ; 

Till God in Christ triumphantly 
Shall raise you both to Heaven. 



CONTEN^TS. 



CHAPTER I. 



PAGH 



Liverpool — Paris — Musee de Sevres — Tapestry Manufactory — 

Versailles, 5 

CHAPTER II. 

Paris to Tours — Tours, Walks near— Peasant Houses— Grape 

Vines— Trees— Flowers— Fall of Fort Sumter, ... 8 

CHAPTER III. 

Tours — Blois — Moulins — Orleans — Festival of Jeanne d'Arc — 
Lyon — Geneva, "Walks near — News from home — Mont 
Blanc— Country Dance, 15 

CHAPTER IV. 

Geneva, continued — Villeneuve — Hotel Byron — Lausanne — 
American Friends — Salleuche — Chamounix — Excursions 
near — Flegere — Cascade du Dard — Glacier des Bossons, 
Jardins — Kate of Chamounix— Chamounix to Milan, by 
Martigny and over the Simplon — Milan to Zurich, by the 
Splugen Pass and Lake of Wallenstadt, .... 25 

CHAPTER V. 

Zurich — Mount Rigi — Great Land Slide — Sunset — Panorama 
View of Switzerland — Lucerne — Lake of Lucerne — Fluelen 
— "William Tell's Valley — Hospital — Furca Pass — Grimsel 
Hospice — Falls of Handek — Interlaken — Wengern Alp — 
Jung Frau — Avalanche — Thun — Berne — Departure of 
Friends — Lake Neuchatel— Geneva — Lyon — Marseilles — 
Nismes—Montpellier— Toulouse, . , , ♦ , 82 



CONTENTS. 



CHAPTER VI. 



PAGE 



The Pyrenees— Luchon — Pori de Yenasque— Venasqne — Eng- 
lish Compauions — Feminine Grit — Port de Picard, . . 44 

CHAPTER VII. 

Luchon — Lac d'Oo — Rain — Pyreucan Valleys — Val d'Aure — 
Arreau — Grip — Bareges — Luz — Pic des Bergous — Mount 
Perdre — Briche do Roland — Cirque de Gavarnie — Pierfitte 
— Indian Corn, 53 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Pan, Walks near — Place Royale — French Papers — Scotch 
Gathering — Spanish Girls — Carnival — Tarbes — Bordeaux 
— Tours — Le Mans — Sevres — Paris, 64 

CHAPTER IX. 

Start from Paris — Kancy— Strasburg — Baden Baden— Heidel- 
berg — Eberstadt — Frankfort — Mayence — The Rhine — 
Coblentz — Seven Mountains, View from — Bonn — Amster- 
dam — Rotterdam — Hull — York, Races at — Boro' Bridge — 
Londonderry — Price of Travelling — Churches — Brignal 
Banks — Barnard Castle — Hotel at Bishop Auckland — Dur- 
ham — \Yashington — Newcastle-on-Tyne — Churches — Pley- 
el's Hymn, 79 

CHAPTER X. 

Otterburn — Inn at Balsey — Flaxen-haired Lassie — Moors — 
Stowe — Melrose — Jedburgh — Edinburgh, Churches at — 
Dr. Hanna— Dr. Guthrie— Calton Hill— Company at Hotel, 89 

CHAPTER XL 

Abbey Craig — Alloa— Sterling— Jessie of Dunblane — Callander, 
Fall near — The Trossuchs — Glen Finlass — Prices at Hotels 
— Home News — Loch Lomond — Ellen's Isle — Braes of Bal- 
quhidder — Loch Tay — Ben Lawers — Hand Weaving — Ken- 
more — Free Church — Established Church — Communion — 
Large Estate— Tay River, 97 



CONTENTS. 6 

CHAPTER XII. 

PAGE 

Dunkeld— Pass of Eilliecrankie — Wild Scenery — Inverness — 
Heleue — Loch Ness — A Scotch Public House — Falls of 
Fo3-ers — Blueberry Bushes — Fort Augustus — Fort William 
— Highlaud Pastor — Celtic Hospitality — Ben Nevis — Ben 
MoDhui, ' .... 110 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Oban — Picnic — Highland Wedding — lona — Staffa — Fingal's 
Cave — Tayuault, Frolic at — Loch Awe — Inverary — Tem- 
perance Hotels — Yorkshireman — Mary of Argyle — Wild 
Flowers, Shrubs and Trees — Loch Lomond — Ben Lomond 
— Glasgow, 124 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Glasgow, continued — Glasgow Fair — Canadians — Largs — Call 
upon Friends — Boat Ride — Arrau Island — Ayr — Ayr River 
— Bonnie Doon — Burns's Cottage — Departure from Ayr — 
Walk along the Seashore — Stranraer, .... 139 

CHAPTER XV. 

Ireland — Belfast — Giant's Causeway — Irish Peasants — Lim- 
erick, 151 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Dublin — Visit to U. S. Gunboat Tuscarora — Killarney, Excur- 
sions near — County Wicklow — Katie Chamounix, . . 165 

CHAPTER XVII. 
Wales, History of, 174 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Holyhead — Bangor — Carnarvon, Lodgings at — Snowden — The 
Eisteddfod — Bets-y-coed — Tramp over the Hills — Conway 
—Curls— Chester, 185 

CHAPTER XIX. 

London — Great Exhibition — Harrogate, Lodgings at — English 

Newspapers, Scenery, and Life, 201 



4: CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER XX. 

PAGE 

Harrogate, continued — Pussy — London, continued — British 
Museum — National Gallery — Tunnel — Call upon American 
Friends — Maple Sugax and Star-Spangled Banner, . . 214 

CHAPTER XXL 
La Station a Dieppe — ^French Reminiscence — Rouen, . . 224 

CHAPTER XXIL 

Paris, Lodgings at — Expenses of Living — Theatre — Louise- 
Musings of Home, 232 

CHAPTER XXIIL 
Whisperings of an Old Pine, No. 1, 244 

CHAPTER XXIV. 
Whisperings of an Old Pine, No. 2, 253 

CHAPTER XXY. 
Whisperings of an Old Pine, No. 8, 258 

CHAPTER XXVI. 
Whisperings of an Old Pine, No. 4, 268 

CHAPTER XXVIL 
Paris, continued— Christmas — Trimming at Church, . . 280 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Liverpool — Washington Hotel— On board Ship — Passengers — 

Arrival at Boston— Home, 288 



THE YMKEE BOY FROM HOME. 



I. 



Wateeloo Hotel, Liverpool, England, ) 
October 27, 1860. > 

Sailed from New York two weeks ago, and 
arrived here this morning. 

Paeis, January 22, 1861. 

Settled here for three months, now more than 
half gone. This morning, with the sen of Mr. 
McClintock, the American clergyman, I visited the 
Musee de Sevres, or Imperial Porcelain Establish- 
ment. "We had written for and received tickets 
last week, but were nnable to get permission to vis- 
it the workshops. The paintings on the porcelains 
are very elegant. I priced one picture made on 
porcelain at 40,000 francs. Some very fine though 
nearly plain china plates were $5 each ; and some 
of the same size, with pictures, $25 each. These 
pictures are all painted on the crockery, and baked 
in ; could we have visited the workshops I should 



6 THE TANXEE EOT 

have doubtless been as nmcli interested as in the 
Tapestry Manufactory. Tliere I visited a few days 
since, and was more interested than in anything I 
had before seen. The portraits and pictures, 
wrought in the carpeting, seem ahnost better 
than the j)aintings themselves. Among others, 
were as many as four of the Empress. The work 
is all done by hand, the workmen having their 
models by them, with the woollen colors wanted, 
on small spools near, so arranged that they can se- 
lect easily which they please. The warp is double, 
and placed vertically ; into this the workman, who 
stands behind, weaves the worsted which forms the 
painting. Some of these pieces take from five 
to ten years in the making. I^one of them are 
sold ; they are kept for p*ublic and private palaces. 
There are employed in the establishment about 
one hundred and twenty workmen. They earn 
from 1,500 to 2,500 francs each a year, and secure 
pensions of from 600 to 1,000 francs if unable to 
work. 

After finishing at the Sevres Museum, we 
walked through the park of St. Cloud to the Em- 
peror's summer palace, and returned by an om- 
nibus. Yesterday I went to the Hotel des Inva- 
lides and the tomb of JSTapoleon. We are looking 
anxiously for the next arrival from home. By the 
last dispatch the Brooklyn had been sent to enter 
Charleston Harbor. I would suggest that South 
Carolina weigh herself against her shadow. 



FEOM HOME. 



Tuesday evening^ Febmiary 5. — I made my 
trip to.-day to Yersailles, starting this morning at 
nine. I bad two hom-s, before tbe palace "was 
opened, in looking over tbe parks and gardens. 
This was to me tbe pleasantest part. Tbe ever- 
greens, trimmed so as to grow in tbe shape of 
pyramids and cones, were slightly covered with 
frost, and looked, at a little distance, like haystacks 
in winter. The ponds near the palace were frozen, 
and a few skaters were npon them. 

Thns ends my last trip at Paris. I believe I 
have seen about all that one pretends to see — a 
good deal more than I had any real desire to. To- 
morrow I shall be busy packing and making other 
preparation for a dej^arture. 



8 THE TAUKEE BOT 



n. 



TouES, Saturday eveninpr, February 9, ) 
Geand Hotel dv 'Faisan. J 



In coining from Paris here, I have come 
through a country almost wholly flat, and, to a 
large extent, especially after passing Orleans, cul- 
tivated with grapes. About Blois the lands look 
handsomely. The Loire seemed to me like the 
Mohawk before it enters the Hudson ; its valley, 
exce]3t that it is wider, like that of the Connec- 
ticut. 

Disembarking at Tours, I got into a hotel car- 
riage, called that of the Grand Hotel du Faisan. 
The landlord was at his small office, that opens 
upon the cour, With him I bargained for my 
room — one looking down from the third story 
f upon the business street of the place. Sitting now 
in it a wood fire flings its heat at me ; French 
books, with an English Bible to guard them, lie 
on the large centre table where I write. Above 
the mantel, handsomely framed, is a girl's photo- 
graph that I bought at Paris — a fancy sketch I 



FROM HOME. 9 

take it to be. Opposite I have another, from tlie 
tableau of a girl at prayer. Parisian-like, she has 
thrown off the waist of her dress, and girl-like, she 
sinks her face low upon the connterpane. Of 
Tours itself I like the looks mnch better than I 
expected, for it appears wholly neat. The Hue 
Koyale, or business street, has a decided American 
apj)earance. 

February 17. — I have just returned from a 
long wall^ in the country. Near to the city I was 
a good deal interested in the low houses in which 
the peasants live, and with the small gardens about 
them. Of the most fertile soil, these are separat- 
ed from each other by the slightest of scantling 
fences, interlaced with grape vines ; whilst in the 
corners are a number — one at least — of pear trees. 
Striking from the river on to the level above, I 
kept on, until, leaving all houses behind me, I was 
alone among the meadows of Touraine. The day 
is like an April day, mild, mostly clear, but slight- 
ly gusty. Many of the fields are green, with cattle 
grazing in them. The grape vines, that cover so 
large an extent of the country, are about three feet 
apart, and trimmed completely to the trunk, with 
but one to three sprouts for bunches. The trim- 
mings are gathered and sold for wood. Hedges 
mostly are used for fences. 

February 23. — Another walk I have had, in 
another direction. If possible, the richness and 
cultivation of the soil appeared yet greater. Tou- 
1* 



10 THE YANKEE BOY 

raine is rightly called the garden of France. The 
whole looks like a garden. Every rood of it is 
highly cultivated ; no fences where I w^as this af- 
ternoon — not even hedges, for miles. For trees 
there were many apple, yonng and thrifty. Be- 
sides these, bordering the road, is often a sort of 
willow, or poplar, which are all trimmed down to 
the trunk, excepting the last one or two years^ 
shoots. The trunks are from one to two feet in 
diameter. Occasionally there is a chateau in 
sight, and always, near by, more or less of woods. 
From where I stood when furthest away to-day, I 
could see three chateaux. There are, besides, the 
houses where the peasants live. All of them ar© 
plastered, of one story, and look tolerably com- 
fortable — some of them new and quite nice, though, 
perfectly devoid of grace in themselves and in. 
their surroundings. Their little yards may have 
flowers in, but, if so, they are concealed from the 
road by a wall that might have protected an an- 
cient city. 

March 3. — Saw some plum trees in blossom, 
but %hey were in an especially warm place. 

March 10. — The whole week past has been 
perfect in its weather. Yesterday and to-day es- 
pecially were bright and beautiful. The trees are 
fast blooming ; the fields already green, as in sum- 
mer. To add to the charm of my walk this after- 
noon, I met a bevy of school-girls. Most of them 
were wee things yet, gay enough, chasing each 



FEOM HOME. 11 

other, and skimming all ways like so many bntter- 
flies. Besides the girls, I went by several fine 
carriages, and also by several of the French scows, 
that were being pushed up the river, a la Fran- 
gaise^ that is, in the most shiftless manner. Across 
the river the land is level for several miles. For 
a long way np there is a row of poplars. Toss 
into the stream one or two considerable islands 
partly overgrown with low shrubbery, and, with 
the city, that soon lay in the distance back of me, 
you can get the view pretty much as I got it. 

MciTcli 24. — I have taken my longest walk to- 
da}^, in chase of a steeple. Over the river, up the 
hill, and off in the country from amongst some trees, 
it rises. After the same unhedged, level country 
for miles, I passed down a hill, to where a clear 
stream was running, and thence ascending slight- 
ly through the first wood I had yet met, and over 
a stone bridge where another and larger brook 
was going under, I came to houses that seemed 
the outskirts of a village street. Directly I en- 
tered a village, having in it a charity institution 
with fine grounds, and in them the steeple I was 
chasing. There was also a good-looking inn. As 
most of the weather lately has been stormy and 
cool, the trees have not advanced rapidly. How- 
ever, I saw one apple tree in full blow, and all 
fully budded. A number of birds felt quite gay 
about it. 

March 31. — The peas about are some three 



12 THE YANKEE BOY 

inches in height — tlie early field flowers in bloom. 
E"eYerthcless the weather the last week lias been 
chilly, with tremendous winds up the river. 

April 7. — The shad trees are dripping with 
flowers. Kear some where I stopped this after- 
noon the birds sang merrily, and my thoughts 
floated as easily as the clouds that hung around. 
Below me, a few feet, one of the railroad tracks 
that centre here, crossed. Its banks were lined 
with young trees. The track itself looks tidy as a 
flower bed. A guide post told me that it was six 
K. to Tours, and twice as far to another village, 
if I turned at the forks. 

April 14. — This afternoon I had a stroll on the 
Bayonne road, south, that goes across the river 
Cher. Yesterday, too, I went the same, turning 
off to the left, and coming into something of a vil- 
lage. The shads have faded, but the birds chirped 
as merrily to the leaves as to the flowers. I 
thought, perhaps they were pleased with the dan 
delions, that begin to blossom very thick. Per- 
haps it was with the daisies, or wild tulips, with 
which alternately the fields are white and yellow. 
Dandelions are the same as with us ; daisies a 
third smaller, and less comely. 

April 28. — Our days grow long very fast. It 
is nearly seven, but no call for lights. I can 
hardly realize that May is close upon us. This 
morning I went to the reading rooms, very much 
desiring full reports from Fort Sumter, which, we 



FKOai HOME. 13 

learned by telegraph yesterday, had collapsed. I 
was disappointed enough to find no further par- 
ticulars ; with contempt passed over the Polish 
news ; left the rooms without even a word for Ceci^ 
who, with her new apron again, sat demurely read- 
ing, and made the straightest course to the post 
office. Here it was all right with a letter and pa- 
per from home. 

I have just been standing an instant by my 
window. Being Sunday night, an unusually large 
throng is going by, though every evening the 
street is filled with promenaders. These French 
voices are musical. To stand on the Rue Royale 
at this hour, one would think Tours a mighty city. 

I often stand thus by my window and gaze, 
equally with a sunny-haired girl over the way, 
that wears a blue dress, and dares to look as pretty 
as she pleases. With nothing else to do, I guess 
I'll write her a song. By Jove, I believe I am 
right in the vein of it, with that blue dress flutter- 
ing before my eyes. 

I call her mine, tlie girl I see, 
The girl I see, that's o'er the way ; 
Lingering by her window still, 
Lingering fondly every day : 
Thinking of her, she notes me too ; 
Coqnettishly she rests in \iew ; 
Koguishly she's smiling ever, — 
Confound the road that dares us sever. 



14: THE YANKEE BOY. 

A bright-eyed lass, with sunny hair ; 
Red, red and ripe, her young lips are ; 
Full is her waist, her shoulder bright, 
Reflecting waves of mellow light : 
Her gaiter small, from skirts let free, 
Mocks in its impudence at me ; 
Or, languishing, entices ever, — 
Alas I the road that doth us sever. 



FEOM HOME. 15 



III 



Blois, Frakce, Tuesday evening, ) 
May 7, 1861. ) 

This morning— I had finished packing last 
night — I went over to the reading rooms, stop- 
jDing, as I came out, for a word with Ceci, who 
declared with emphasis that Tours was just begin- 
ning to be pleasant, and that the conntrj was 
charming in the snmmer. 

I left Tonrs at half past eleven. From the cars 
I looked my good-by to the place, almost with sor- 
row when I crossed the walk by the canal, where I 
have been so much. For some distance along the 
river I recognized the different objects that I had 
passed in my rambles, but when these were gone, 
and the cathedral tower got lost in the distance, I 
thought that to me it was Tours no more. 

From the cars we had a good view of the cha- 
teau at Amboise. At one o'clock we reached 
Blois, where I had determined to stop. From the 
depot I came to the hotel, and have since looked 
over the town, with a walk into its suburbs. 



16 THE YANKEE BOY 

JfouUns, or, to go back, Orleans ; — where 1 
reached yesterday afternoon, finding an immense 
crowd gathered for the festival of Jeanne d'Arc ; 
every hotel was full ; with the offer of five francs, 
however, I obtained a room in a private family. 
I then walked down the street, following the 
crowd, and drew np at a small enclosure, where 
seemed an honest opportunity of spending some 
money. Leaving half a franc at the door, I en- 
tered. Tliere was a very handsome flower-show, 
connected with the agricultural fair of this de- 
partment, which is being held here during the 
week of the festival. Afterward I entered the 
main grounds of the fair. There was pretty much 
ever^^thing that we have at our fairs, excepting 
horses. 

After supper I looked more at the city. From 
the tower of the large cathedral there is a fine 
view over the fertile plains, that lie on all sides 
level to the horizon. I was on top just at sunset 
— rather a hazy sunset, when the sun is very red ; 
but it corresponded well with the great stretch of 
level valley around me, and the rather obscure 
recollections 1 had of Orleans, and Jeanne d'Arc. 

This morning, after breakfast, I took the cars 
again for Lyon. Learning that I could not arrive 
until the morning, I determined to stop some- 
where ; consulting the railroad guide, I selected 
this place for the night. Here, then, I am just up 
from dinner, excessively sleepy. They tell me the 



FEOM HOME. 17 

old place has 25,000 people. One might well judge 
it had the same number of years. From Orleans 
here the country has been repellent in its dryness 
and want of cultivation. I might perhaps except 
the last thirty miles. 

Geneva, Switzeeland, May 13. 

Friday morning I left Moulins. Being market 
day the peasants were in from the country with 
their merchandise. They look entirely different, 
and are dressed entirely different, from those of 
Tours and Orleans. You would think them an- 
other people. Between Moulins and Lyon the 
country differs much ; at first low, uninviting 
plains, then, when you reach La Palisse hills, 
there occasionally would be a choice picture view. 
JSTearing JRoanne^ a valley stretched off to the left, 
bounded by a low range of mountains, which we 
soon reached, and from St. EtienriQ we were push- 
ing through immense barren rocks, with the most 
forlorn-looking villages and cities upon and under 
them. Saturday morning I looked over Lyon. 
To a great extent it lies built upon a steep side- 
hill. The centre streets are wide and handsome, 
lined with six-story stone buildings. I left for 
Geneva at half past one, the railroad keeping near 
to a stream, that flows among high barren moun- 
tains, nearly the whole distance. As we neared 
Geneva we got a glance of Mont Blanc, and had 
glimpses, too, of little valleys slumbering sweetly 
where they had fallen. 



18 THE YANKEE BOY 

Here, at Geneva, I stop temporarily at tlie 
Hotel des Bergues^ and find three letters for com- 
pany. 

May 19. — Kiglit opposite the Hotel des Ber- 
gueSy in tlie third story, fronting on the lake, I 
have engaged me a room for a month. I can see 
the swans sailing about throughout the day ; in the 
evening have the music of a band on the- island in 
front of me. 

June 2. — Have had a long walk this evening 
along the lake shore. 'Tis a charming walk, com- 
mencing from below my window, and leaving the 
city almost directly. There are scattered the 
whole way many handsome and some elegant 
dwellings, with grounds before and about them. 
The birds were musical, the lake quiet, the sun 
setting over the Jura mountains, with a large mass 
of cloud rolling along them. 

June 9. — Sunday again, and a cloudy day. 
At the French church this morning, we had a 
great crowd to hear a distinguished preacher. 
The church, which was formerly a Catholic cathe- 
dral, is very large. The exercises through, I 
walked around by the avenue of trees above the 
gardens, to the post office, and thence, across the 
river, to the English church, in time for the 
hymns and sermon. This wxek I have had two 
magnifique walks, both in the same direction. 
Turning from the lake shore on to a little hill 
there is, and keeping, perhaps three miles, on the 



FEOM HOME. 19 

higLer grounds, witli the lake on one side below, 
and the Mont Blanc range on the other. An ele- 
gant sunset added to the charm, as well, also, the 
fragrance of fresh cut hay. Aside from the effect 
of mountains and valleys, a most noticeable feature 
of all these walks near Geneva is the garden-like 
aspect of the country. 

Tuesday evening^ July 2. — Yesterday and to- 
day, again, were fine, after two weeks' rain and 
storm. The air still remains cool. This afternoon I 
made quite a walk along by the railroad. After 
the rains, the gardens and fields are looking for- 
ward. I see tomatoes in abundance about town — 
whether brought from the south or raised in hot- 
beds, I do not know. 

July 21 — And the Sunday going ; French ser- 
vice, then English this morning, and a little 
American news. This afternoon somebody had 
my seat at the English church, as, indeed, happens 
every week. I take it pretty good-naturedly, al- 
though turned out twice myself when comfortably 
seated in Sir Robert P — 's. To-day I took the 
first bench just inside the door, where sat a pretty 
damsel, light hair and blonde, rosy cheek and 
blithe. 

Last night I had a nice walk above the Rhone, 
near where the Arve empties in. The land is per- 
fectly flat, with cabbages and cabbage huts, very 
like to the region as you go out from Albany, or 
Troy on the Lansingburg side. I have also this 



20 THE YAITKEE BOY 

week attended a concert in a small village six 
miles out. I make two notes. The concert was 
poor, very poor ; the peasants attending plain and 
stupid in looks — very plain and very stupid. 
Here though at Geneva, I see many intelligent 
men and women, and Swiss girls that reflect most 
prettily in the dark blue waters of the Rhone. 

July 28. — A fine day it is ; we have had sev- 
eral of them this last week, with a perfect sight of 
the Mont Blanc range. We get letters to the 
Paris newspapers from America of the 13th, but 
no private letters to-day, nor any IN'ew York 
Times at the hotel. From the correspondence of 
the London Times we learn quite truly the state 
of affairs. Russell is not enough of a man, or a 
traveller, to throw aside his prejudices, but in the 
main appears tolerably well. The New York cor- 
respondent is a zealous advocate for the right. 
The correspondent of the Illustrated News is 
mightily pleased with our steamboats. He sends 
a sketch of the New World on the Hudson. It 
looks to me like an old friend. 

July 31. — Received two letters this morning, 
at the office, and with them in my hand, and the 
city passed, my coat over my arm, il a fait tree- 
chaiid aujourdlnii^ I struck off up the hills south- 
east toward the Little Saleve. 'Twas a road I had 
not been on before. It gave a fine view of the 
Jura range in France, with the gap through which 
the Rhone passes. It gave also a fine view of the 



FEOM HOME. 21 

pretty hedges tliat lined it, and the Swiss cottages 
that frowned upon it — smiled, if yon prefer. There 
were, too, the rij^ening fields of rye, blossoming 
potatoe-vines, and newly mowed meadows, so 
that, beguiled by the pretty stories they kept tell- 
ing me, I kept on. and on, with the letters still in 
my hand. This is the fanciful view ; but, in truth, 
I was all the time looking for a stone, more or less 
big, under some shady tree, where I could sit, 
muse and read, with no fears from dampness. 

At last, coming to a broad tree near the hedge, 
I threw my coat down upon the grass in place of 
a stone, and opened the letters. The first told of 
strawberrying, and I stopped to think about 
strawberries, but my thoughts diverged. That's 
rather a pretty girl coming, at least looks well 
from here — shall see her better pretty quick ; 
guess I'll be reading my letter : " I got there 
about five, finding them eagerly at it, on the 
ground to the north a little of — " that word's un- 
usually tough. 

" BonjouT^ mademoiselle^ 

" Bonjour, monsieur^ 

She is very pretty, and what a walk she's got ; 
head up. Oh yes, it rained yesterday, or day be- 
fore, and with such a nice Sunday skirt, and so 
pretty a gaiter, there can be no doubt of the pro- 
priety. Of course I like you the better for it. 
There was a dash of genius in it. " Me dites vous 
qu'ime fille, avec un petit pied comma cela ne 



22 THE YANKEE BOY 

puisse faire son cliemin clans le moncle?" — ''To 
the nortli a little of — " tliere slie goes in that yard 
gate like the river snow-flakes. " A little of — " 
somebody's race course. 

August 7. — ^Though the rain has continued in 
storms, we have had some very pleasant weather 
this week, and fine views of Mont Blanc. Mon- 
day I made my longest and one of the pleasantest 
walks, going on the Swiss side of the lake, as far 
as the Kothschild's summer mansion, which is on 
the highest point of ground, near and above the 
lake, facing toward Mont Blanc. The gardens 
and fields look finely after the rains. Coming to 
a shady spot on the side-hill, where a big stone 
was alone, I lay down on it, and passed a dreamy 
hour, with the Savoy and Piedmont mountains 
and valleys in full view before me. It was a curi- 
ous thought that I was here alone in Switzerland, 
close over the lake to which atlases impart a pe- 
culiar fascination in a school-boy's fancies. 

Monday I went again the tour that I before 
described, on to the hill above the south side of 
the lake. This is the highest ground of the can- 
ton. I trespassed upon a man's meadow to get on 
the summit. The sun took its position on Mount 
Jura, more properly Mount Dole of the Jura. I 
suppose he had the better view. The great valleys 
this side of the Mont Blanc mountains seemed as 
if they had not finished their Sunday, so very quiet 
were they gathering iu the evening shadows, and 



FEOM HOME. 23 

the snow of Mont Blanc, withont even a shadow 
to spot it, was lovely as a yonng girl. I kept on 
in my walk to a small village, wliicli I found gaily 
trimmed for a fete, with a bevy of lassies gathered 
outside on a rough temporary platform for a dance. 
I will do them justice : one or two of them should 
have been called very pretty ; the whole made a 
fair selection for Delicates. 

THE AMERICAN GIRL'S SONG TO HER FLAG. 

See, see, our Flag ! see, see, our Flag ! 

How softly it cloth fly ; 
Its stars and stripes, its stars and stripes, 

Are on the evening sky. 

How clear it waves ! how clear it waves ! 

Nor thinks of sorrows past ; 
But bravely strives, and always strives, 

For victory at last. 

My brother died, my brother died, 

Beneath that banner bright ; 
For Freedom's cause, her righteous cause, 

He perished in the fight. 

My lover died, my lover died. 

Beneath that banner bold ; 
With bloody wounds, with cruel wounds, 

His life was sadly told. 

Kg brother now, no lover now. 

Young Ellen's heart grows sad ; 
Both dear to her, both true to her, 

And they were all she had. 



24 



THE YANKEE BOY 



See, see, my Flag ! see, see, my Flag ! 

How sweetly it dotli fly ; 
Its stars and stripes, its stars and stripes. 

Lie on the golden sky. 

(Geneva, August 12, 1861.) 



FEOM HOME. 25 



IV. 



CHAMO0NIX, August 24, 1861. 

TRAVELLiNa leaves little time for writing. A 
week ago Saturday I left Geneva on the lake boat. 
As we came near Lausanne a storm came on, so 
that I gave up the idea of stopping, and, with the 
other passengers, passed the fine scenery, eating 
dinner in the cabin. The rain, however, stopped 
shortly before we reached Yilleneuve. I went to 
the Hotel Byron, and remained there over Sunday. 
Saturday night, and also Sunday night, we had 
beautiful sunsets over the Jura, with the lake 
far extending in front ; mountains both wooded, 
rocky, and snow-covered, at the side and behind us. 
Shortly after, the moon came over the high hills 
— a full moon. A party of us from the yard 
watched it through my spy-glass, counting the 
leaves, on the hill, of the trees that were in the 
way. 

Monday morning, by the first boat, I went to 
Lausanne. A clear day gave me the beauty of 
the lake ride, and of Lausanne itself, that, from a 
2 



26 THE YANKEE BOY 

most perfect position, looks toward the lake, ver} 
mucli as Burlington, Yermont, ^toward Lake 
Cliamplain. Walking to the Tillage, I left my 
bag at the hotel, and then went on to the hill 
back, that is called the " Signal." The view from 
here approaches that from the Dole^ the highest 
of the Juras. It lacks only the back view off into 
France, and the valley between the Jura range 
and the lake. I left Lausanne by the three o'clock 
boat. Before we reached Geneva, I made the ac- 
quaintance of an American and his wife from 
Springfield, Mass. They soon persuaded me, that 
I would best join them in a tour through Switzer- 
land, and this properly commenced in a new start 
from Geneva on Wednesday morning, at seven. 
We left the Hotel de Metropole^ my ticket bought 
to Sallenche, theirs through to Chamounix. At 
Sallenche was the stop for dinner, and also a 
change from the large diligence to light wagons. 
There remained eighteen miles to Chamounix, 
which I had determined to walk. The first four 
miles being level, I was left behind. Here I 
passed many Swiss cottages, high up on the moun- 
tain slopes, with small gardens and vineyards 
close about them. When we came to the hills, 
long and steep, I had the advantage. With four 
hours and a half to Chamounix, I kept the coaches 
back, and engaged rooms for our party at the Ho- 
tel d'Angleterre. Through all this ride from Ge- 
neva we were in constant view of Mont Blanc. 



FEOM HOME. 27 

The Arve, by which we go the first part of the 
way, comes a muddy, glacier-fed river. 

Thursday, Mrs. C ■ being somewhat unwell, 

Mr. C and myself walked on to the Flegere. 

"With om' glass we watched for some time a party 
of twelve making the ascent of Mont Blanc. 
Mont Blanc lies directly opposite. We conld 
easily follow their course, and see the line of the 
path nearly to the summit. Refreshed with bread 
and milk, that we found in the chalet there, we 
made a much more easy descent back again to the 
hotel. The day was one of the finest ever known 
at Chamounix ; so reported the guides of the Mont 

Blanc pai'ty. Friday, also a fine day, Mrs. C 

still slightly unwell, Mr. C- and myself had 

another walk to the Cascade du Dard, and thence 
to the Glacier des Bossons, which we crossed nearly 
where they commence the ascent of Mont Blanc. 
"We took our time in our walk, refreshing, as be- 
fore, with strawberries and milk, from another 
chalet. In the woods we found fine whortleberry 
picking. The Glacier des Bossons juts out nearly 
in the centre of the Chamounix valley, and so 
gives a perfect view of it in both directions. The 
valley is narrow enough to have been the former 
bed of a river. It was six o'clock w^hen we got 
back to the hotel. 

Yesterday I was up at five, and commenced 
with a good breakfast. At half past six, with six 
others, and a guide, I started for the Jardins. 



28 THE YANKEE BOY 

This is sometimes called one of tlie finest trips 
among the Alps. One of onr party was Irish ; 
the rest, except myself, English. At first we went 
to the Montanvert or Mer de Glace. This took 
us nearly an honr and a half, and here we stopped 
for provisions to take with us, and a porter to car- 
ry them. Again on our way, the path lies along 
by the Mer de Glace for half an hour, with an 
hour to follow on the Mer de Glace, crossing it 
obliquely. In crossing this, our party got sepa- 
rated, two going on with one of the guides, the rest 
of us hanging back to look up crystals. My own 
interest geologically being limited, the magnetism 
of the crystals soon gave way with me, and I held 
on alone after the first half of our party, following 
the path I had seen them take. My Irish friend, 
who sits by me now, talking to a very pretty Eng- 
lish girl, says he was two hours and a half only to 
the Jardins from the Montanvert. When I came, 
he, with his comrade and guide, was on a big rock 
enjoying the best of our dinner, though they de- 
clared themselves disgusted with the view. With- 
out underrating this, which at least excelled in 
dreariness, I was fully prepared to defer to the 
dinner. A half hour passed. The other party 
hove in sight, reached the rocks and the remnants 
of the meal. . Big clouds, that had threatened all 
day, were sinking lower. The ambitious Irishman 
bade others take their time, but as for him, he said, 
it was " en avant." The guide that had come first 



FEOM HOME. 29 

caiiglit the spirit. Two hours and a quarter 
brought us back again to the Montanvert ; thirty- 
eight minutes more rushed us to the foot of the 
mountain near thu lioteh One word upon the 
Jardins. It is wholly a glacier view, larger, per- 
haps, and more desolate, but little different from 
that of the Mer de Glace. Its interest lies in its 
utter solitude. 'No sounds but falling avalanches ; 
nothing in sight but fields of upheaved ice, 
hemmed in, on all sides, by grim pointed rocks of 
enormous size and height. And one word more 
for the little beauty upon the sofa by me. She is 
assez petite, w^ith bright eyes and bright dimples. 
I have just told her I was writing about her. She 
seems to think it's a pretty good subject, and 
Tv^ants to know what I am saying. She laughs, 
too, beautifully. It's all in vain, I cannot write 
in thinking of this girl. 

3fa?/, 1863. — Chamounix to Milan, Milan to 
Zurich. The notes that I took are lost. Looked 
back upon, across two years of time, the impres- 
sions that worded themselves into a dozen pages, 
bid fair to condense into one. 

Chamounix, the Tete Noire, mountains, val- 
leys, mules, German students, German girls, Al- 
pine stocks, and one miserable waterfall, that a 
Swedish gentleman advised us half a mile out of 
our way to see, the w^ide, long extending valley 
of the upper Ehone, and Martigny. To here, I 



80 THE YANKEE BOY 

recollect, I came on foot, my friends on mules. 
Here also we had some dinner and some tea. 
From here we came by cars to Sion ; by dili- 
gence to Lenky Bad, where we ascended the 
Torrenthorn, and the next day, in a carriage that 
we hired, passed down the valley of the Rhone 
to the Simplon Pass, which, on the second 
day, we crossed into the snltry yalleys of Italy, 
as far as Milan. The Sunday was passed at 
Milan. The succeeding four days gave us some 
fair sails upon the Italian lakes ; carried us over 
the Splugen Pass, down into German Switzerland, 
and by the lake of Wallenstadt to Zurich. 'Twas 
the time of a calm sunset that we came to the 
margin of fair Zurich's waters. By the cars we 
had skirted the southern shore of the lake of 
"Wallenstadt, that lay belted in by enormous 
mountains. Where the line ended, at Lake Zuricli, 
we tarried long enough to get a dinner, at a small 
restaurant hotel, built in the form of a Swiss cot- 
tage, near to the lake shore. Two very pretty 
demoiselles acted the part of waitresses, one of 
them dressed in the Swiss costume. The northern 
shore of Lake Zurich, that we sailed aloug that 
evening, swelled into a long gently rising upland, 
that in its look and cultivation reflected any New 
England State. 

Tlie Splugen Pass pleased me more than the 
Simplon. I liked the spruces that flourished about 



FEOM HOME. 31 

it, and I likedj especially, tlie beautiful wide val- 
ley that it came down into on tlie Swiss side. For 
the first half of the pass we fortunately secured 
coupe seats, three of us ; so we fitted exactly in 
the coiii:)e. 



32 THE YANKEE BOY 



V. 

Lton, September 15, 1861. 

It is Sunday again. I wrote last at Zuricli. 
We came into Zuricli Friday niglit, and, after first 
having walked tlirougli ttie village, left in good 
season Saturday morning. Zuricli is a cliarming 
place. I should say that it was by far the prettiest 
place to live in, in Switzerland. Our course from 
here was to the Rlgi mountain above the lake of 
Lucerne. There was an elegant diligence ride be- 
tween Lake Zurich and Lake Zug ; a rolhng coun- 
try, fertile and home-like. On Lake Zug we took 
again the steamboat to the foot of the Kigi. Two 
English girls on board were sketching the scene. 
I noticed this difference between us : they looked 
at the scene, but I looked at them. The height 
of the Higi is 5,900 feet ; from it is one of the 
most celebrated views of Switzerland. We landed 
at Arth and made the ascent, Mr. C and my- 
self on foot, Mrs. C on horseback. A mostly 

clear day we had, and, in going up, many a fine 
glimpse of Lake Zug and its shores. We could 



FEOM HOME. 83 

see, too, tlie Rossberg Mountain, that slants now 
like the roof of a house. It was a part of this, that 
in 1806, splitting off, overv^^helmed three villages, 
and filled up a part of a small lake several miles 
distant. Beside a great amount of property, this 
slide destroyed 450 lives. 

Sunset on the Rigi ! There were clouds about 
that covered the highest Alps of the Bernese chain, 
but there remained a magnificent panorama view 
of Switzerland. This is not at all, as from the 
Torrenthorn, confined to mountains. From three 
sides the country looks a grazing land, and is dot- 
ted with lakes and villages. The Jura range 
bounds to the west, l^ortheast, with the glass, I 
could distinguish a large body of water, that I 
supposed the lake of Constance. Lake Zug, with 
its rounded shores, lies below. It seemed looking 
at the sunset as well as ourselves, but the sun bade 
it good night before us, and the shadows were lying 
all over its quiet w^aters whilst we yet saw the 
sun's rim over the Jura. The lake of Lucerne is 
so directly under the body of the mountain tliat 
we see but little of it. The small unique valley 
of Lowertz lies easterly. Southwesterly, over the 
hills, I had with my glass a glimpse of Zurich. 

This was to be our last bird's-eye view of Swit- 
zerland. I had had now three very complete ones, 
from the Dole, the Torrenthorn, and the Rigi. 
That from the Dole and the Rig7 may be com- 
pared ; they both embrace mountain and valley 



34 THE YANKEE BOY 

On the Torrentliom you but stand in tlie centre 
of a circumference of mountains. As to the 
views from the Dole and from the Rigi, that 
from the Eigi should be most beautiful, as it looks 
upon a choicer part of Switzerland ; but from the 
former you see Mont Blanc magnificently, and 
have, too, the whole lake of Geneva stretching 
below, like Lake Champlain, as seen from Bertha 
Mountain in Yermont. Both views have their 
beauty. I am glad to have seen both. 

There is a large hotel on the summit of the 
Kigi. Here we stopped over the night till the 
sound of the horn bade us search for sunrise. 
It proved rather a difiicult search. The wind blew 
so furiously, one could hardly stand in its way. 
Immense curtains of cloud and fog hung in the 
valleys toward the east. However, we waited 
patiently, some two hundred of us, till finally a 
perfect hurricane swept the clouds for an instant 
away, and showed us the sun about half an hour 
up in the heavens. The women were delighted, 
everybody was satisfied and went to breakfast. I 
swung my glass around once or twice, but the 
wind blew cold, besides blowing strong : it didn't 
pay. 

Breakfast over, our party started to catch the 
nine o'clock boat to Lucerne. A tremendous rain 
came on that washed us down the mountain, land- 
ing us in a comic Swiss hotel to dry. The boat 
was somewhat late. Whilst waiting and drying, 



FEOM HOME. 35 

we were engaged in buying old coin and wooden 
images, of a good-looking Swiss girl, that spoke 
Enorlish. She had learned it from her brother, 
who had been in England. She herself had long 
wanted to go to America, and meant to, she said, 
when she had saved money enough. 

Smiday we passed at Lucerne, at the Schweit- 
zer Hoff. Lucerne is a very different city from 
Zurich — old, and every way uninteresting except 
in its situation. From a hill back we got the 
beauty of this Sunday ; the weather again was 
clear and fine. Monday we left at five, to make 
the trip of the lake by steamer. The first part 
of the ride was to me the finest, the bay of Uri 
uninteresting in the extreme. For its mountain 
scenery it does not compare with the lake of 
IVallenstadt, or of Thun, or of Brienz. At Flue- 
len, at the other end of the lake, we took the dili- 
gence to go as far as Hospital, on the St. Gothard 
route. I rode only to Amity. This was through 
"William Toll's Yalley, and is one of the prettiest 
and grandest rides we have had, being more nearly 
to us, than anything before, what Americans think 
Switzerland to be. From Amity to Hospital is 
much less interesting. Mostly up hill, I walked 
it. Shortly after crossing the so called Devil's 
Bridge, we reach Andermatt, and thence, in one 
mile and a half. Hospital. A bread and milk din- 
ner, a bargain for a horse, and we are off for Furca 
Inn, the halfway station of the Furca Pass, that 



36 THE YANKEE BOT 

runs from the St. Gothard to Grimsel, thence to 
Meyringen, near the lake of Brienz. It is onlj 
practicable for those on foot, or on horseback, and 
is, at its summit, 8,250 feet above the sea. The 
whole way it is through a barren region ; large 
rocks for mountains, and, in the valleys, stunted 
rocks, and stunted goats. Patches of snow, or 
glaciers, lie everywhere above us, and send down 
numerous streams, muddy and spunky, that find 
their way to the Keuss, which empties into the 
lake of Lucerne. 

The shades of night were falling fast, as a large 
St. Bernard dog welcomed me to the little inn at 
Furca. I say at Eurca, because it is the Furca 
Inn. There is, though, no other hut to make a 
village. The dog welcomed me, and I shouted 
back at the dark valley. An answering short 
told that some of the party were not far down. 1 
told the dog these were some friends of mine, an 
American and his wife. They would want his best 
bed, T should want the next, and then, if there 
were any left, there were a couple of Englishmen 
coming. An half hour after we were all about the 
suj)per table, hungry enough, and tired enough. 

The next morning, up at six, we had intended 
to go to Meyringen, thirty miles ; but to the star- 
ry night had succeeded a cloudy morning. Mist 
wrapped the mountain tops, or sank low in the 
valley, and various little rain drops were lying on 
the window panes. There is quite a fine view up 



FKOM HOME. 37 

here in clear weather ; so the guide says. There 
is very little view this morning. Somewhat mood- 
ily we sit down to breakfast. " II pleiit," says the 
landlord, coming in from out the door. Nino 
o'clock, " il pleut encore." But we have umbrellas, 
and I suggest to the madame that it may be better 
to go on, than to wait for an Alpine storm to go 
by. She is like-minded. Yie order the horse, and 
with our umbrellas to guard against the drizzling 
fog, set out for the Grimsel hospice, ten miles oif. 
In our course we passed by the Rhone glacier, 
where is the source of the Rhone. It is one of the 
largest and finest glaciers we have seen. Passing 
round its base, the mountain of the Grimsel rises 
before us, about 1,200 feet to ascend. The guide 
and the horse go ahead ; we go more slowly, stop- 
ping occasionally to pick whortleberries. Once on 
the top, there is a wonderfully fine view of cloud 
and mist, and a strong, biting wind whirling it 
onward. At the foot of this mountain is the Grim- 
sel hospice, a building of stone, with very thick 
walls, and now, as we arrive, a dining-room com- 
fortable from the well made fire. We get again 
some bread and milk, and rest the horse. Mean- 
while the rain has ceased actively, though the 
clouds are still low. Leaving the Grimsel, we 
wind down the Aar until we arrive at its cele- 
brated falls at Handek. A strong, turbulent, 
glacier stream, it has been jumping all the way 
since we met it, and now throws itself into a dark 



38 THE YANKEE BOY 

cliasm, ninety feet deep. Anotlier little stream 
jumps in from tlie left, at tlie same point, adding, 
perhaps, to tlie eflect. The scenery everywhere is 
Alpine — high rocks, with a few miserable trees. 
The fall, then, has no charm from graceful foliage 
about it. Its effects must come from its own merit. 
As a graceful and copious sheet of water, it is cer- 
tainly fine, but the eye does not like to be satis- 
fied w4th this alone, and perhaps is a little disap- 
pointed. Passing this fall, there is no other point 
of special interest on the route. About six we 
came to a little Tillage — the first since Hospital — 
and here, at a tolerably poor inn, w^e spent the 
nio-ht. The next morn ins: was still threatenins:, 
so that, when we reached Meyringen, a short two 
hours from wdiere w-e stopped, we concluded to 
alter our plan, and go by Brienz to Interlaken. 
We had intended going by the greater Scheideck 
direct to Grindelwald. By the lake route we 
reached Interlaken about dusk. It was too cloudy 
to see the lake w^ell, its mountain tops being whol- 
ly covered, but it seemed to us that it must be one 
of the most beautiful of the Swiss lakes. We caught 
a glimpse of the fall of Brienz, as it came down a 
high mountain slope, under low underbrush. 

At Interlaken overnight, and Thursday morn- 
ing early, there being a clear sky, and the clouds 
flying, we started, en voiture, to make the tour of 
the Wengern Alp. The cool air gave zest to the 
morning drive. The drive itself is a very hand- 



FEOM HOME. 39 

some one, by the fertile fields near Interlaken, into 
the gorge that leads np to the Jungfrau, and the 
other Bernese Alps. "We left our carriage at 
Lauterbrunnen, to be taken round by the char- 

road to Grindelwald. Mr. and Mrs. C then 

took the horses, with saddles, and I followed on 
foot. The commencement of the ascent is steep ; 
we had soon extended views of the valley and its 
Swiss homes. "We see, also, on the further sider, 
the Stau?jbach fall, that is, we see from where it 
comes, l)ut it gets so small, we are not sure where 
it goes. Before and above, white, like our wintry 
snow drifts, tliat curve so beautifully, is the Jung- 
frau. It lies in sight the whole time, till three 
hours' steady march has brought us to the height 
of the Wengern Alp. JSTow we might throw stones 
at it. "We sit outside of the little inn, and watch 
and listen for falling avalanches. The fresh wind 
that comes from the snows, has a wintry tone ; 
the atmosphere, after the rains, is very clear ; a 
large herd of cows is grazing below us in the 
field. Tliey all wear Alpine bells, and the tink- 
ling sounds very prettily among these valleys. 
Suddenly there is a grumbling noise, that in- 
creases to a roar like thunder. Coming down the 
side of the Jungfrau we see a white mist of snow. 
Tills is the avalanche. "While we stopped there 
were two more — one of them very loud and very 
perfect, coming from near the top, and falling, 
several times, from one landing place to another, 



4:0 THE YANKEE BOY 

until it was lost in the green valley. It looked 
very miicli like a foaming waterfall. From tlie 
top there is another three hours' walk to Grindel- 
wald, passing under several of the highest of the 
Bernese Alps. About half way down we were 
entertained with Swiss songs from an elderly dame 
and her daughter. In fact, some sort of entertain- 
ment had been prepared for us all the morning, at 
every turn, till a little pocketful of sous, that I 
started with, were all spent. First there was a 
man with a horn, which he blew furiously, then 
doffed his hat. "We paid him pretty handsomely, 
BO that he kept blowing till we were out of sight. 
But the next turn brought another man with a 
bigger horn, a third turn mineralogical specimens, 
then a third horn, with this time a' really fine 
echo. In coming up the mountain there was a 
boy to be satisfied at every gate, and a dish of 
strawberries to be eaten at every cot. At Grin- 
delwald we had om* dinner, put the horses again 
to the carriage, and returned to Interlaken about 
seven, thus finishing one of the longest and finest 
days' tours we have made. 

From Interlaken, the next day, we sailed over 
the fair lake of Tliun, to Thun. We dodged about 
Thnn desperately, during the short interval there 
was before the cars left for Berne. Beween Thun 
and Berne lies a farming country, pleasant to the 
eye. At Berne we had a fine sunset view from the 
cathedral tower, both of the city, of the country, 



FROM HOME. 41 

and of the lofty Bernese Alps. Berne is a com- 
pact, ancient-looking city, with parallel streets. 
From the cathedral we went back to our hotel, to 
pass a lingering evening over a large mnskmelon. 
The next morning we were to separate. I bade 
good-by to the Yankee companions, after fonr 
weeks' very agreeable acquaintance. I guess we 
were all a little sober ; however, personally, I feel 
again, now, about the same as of yore, and am 
glad the tour of Switzerland is well made. 

At ^ye o'clock Saturday morning I left Berne, 
passed around Lake Neuchatel, and came again 
to Geneva, at about one. Here I had two hours, 
and looked in at the post office, but received noth- 
ing. The old town was very natural. At half 
past four we left for Lyon, going over the same 
route that I had come. We reached here about 
ten. "With my sack I w^alked on, through the city, 
to the Hotel de Collet, a first-class hotel, where I 
secured an upper bedroom for two francs, tout 
compris, 

Toulouse, September 19. 

I left Lyon Monday for Marseilles. The road 
goes w^ithin sight of the Rhone, as far as Ter as- 
con. The valley of the Ehone is not handsome, 
nor did it seem especially fertile. There are 
mountains in sight on both sides nearly all the 
way — dry, disagreeable hills they are. "Were our 
mountains like many of these in Europe, my love 
for them would die speedily, if it had ever had 



42 THE YANKEE BOY 

birtli. The view of tlie Mediterranean, before 
reaching Marseilles, is very fine, a blue sea, to 
counteract the eifect of snow and rock, that we 
have had so long among the Alps. 

Marseilles 1 was disgusted with. It is a dirty, 
dusty, windy, disagreeable city, with the poorest 
hotels, and the most exorbitant charges. The 
streets smell so badly, you can scarcely walk 
through them. I went on to the hill south of the 
town. The wind blew furiously from the north, 
a hurricane sweeping over this parched and dreary 
land. All the view is uninteresting, excepting 
that toward the sea. The harbor, a little inlet 
from the bay, is very small, though perfectly pro- 
tected. There is now another artificial one. I 
left at four Tuesday afternoon, returning as far as 
Terascon, and thence directly on to Nismes for the 
night. The next day I looked over the Roman 
ruins, tlie amphitheatre, that is externally better 
preserved than the Coliseum at Rome, and a quite 
prettily shaped building with fine Corinthian col- 
umns, now used as a museum. There were also 
some old bath arrangements, within a very pretty 
modern garden. By the twelve o'clock train I 
went to Montpellier. The whole way between is 
a luxuriant field, covered with vineyards, bending 
with most elegant clusters of grapes. It seemed 
to me all as fertile as Touraine. At Montpellier 
I had an hour and a half, and went upon the 
PeyroUj after inquiring at the post oflice. There 



FEOM HOME. 43 

is a long, extended view. Tlie whole country 
looks ricli ; the town itself handsome. On one 
side there are high hills in the distance, and on the 
other the sea. 

I should give, too, a marked preference to the 
race that live at Montpellier, at Kismes, and at 
Toulouse, over any I have seen before in France. 
The next train left Montpellier at half past three ; 
we arrived at Toulouse, after several opportunities 
for lunch, at half past eleven. 1 have found here 
two letters. As I see it, I like the city well. It 
seems a busy city. My trunks I have forwarded 
to Pan, and intend leaving myself to-morrow, 
through the level fields of Languedoc, for Luchon, 
in the Pyrenees. 



44 THE YANKEE BOY 



VI. 

Luz, Feance, September 12, 18G1. 

I HAVE made tlie tour of tlie Pyrenees on foot, 
commenced Monday and finislied to-day. Let no 
one say I haven't seen half of them. I've seen all 
I mean to, and a good many more than I wish I 
had. I have been np over seven thonsand feet four 
different times. Eely on this : v/lien I start again, 
I'll have a good horse mider me. 

To-day I came from Grip in five and a half 
hom-s — the easiest day I have had. I shonld have 
gone on the Pic du Midi de Bigorre, making four 
hours longer, but the weather seemed too threat- 
ening, the Pic being covered v/ith clouds and snow 
when I came to the place where they turn off to 
ascend. I reached here at three, and found a let- 
ter and paper. It was a treat to get some news 
again, after so much tramping. I ordered a beef- 
steak, with some rich milk for drink, and, with the 
letter spread before me, ate and read alternately. 

Saturday niglit. — In spite of what I vrrote last 
night, I've been up another mountain and got 



( 



FEOM HOME. 46 

down again — that's the best part — all on foot and 
alone. The day was so very fine that the tempta- 
tion was too great. Instead of taking a^horseback 
ride to Gavarnie, I went np the Pic des Ber- 
gons, which is called in the guide book one of the 
finest points of view among the Pyrenees. It did 
not begin to be as fine as where I went Tuesday. 
ISTevertheless it was good, and wuth my sj^y glass I 
could see so perfectly the valley, the cirque, and 
the waterfalls at Gavernie, that I shall not go 
there at all, but, instead, shall leave here Monday 
morning for Pan. 

Put to go back. Toulouse, and on the top of 
the diligence you have me started through the fer- 
tile fields of LangLiedoc, given mostly to grain and 
grass. The Pyrenees form a distant outline in 
front a long way off, and then a shorter way ofi", 
till when we stopped to breakfast, at one o'clock, 
the arms which the main chain flings out continu- 
ally into the valley were but a short distance ahead. 
The meal — I can hardly do it justice now, but I 
did at the time — the meal over, and the little vil- 
lage of Saint somebody, where we ate, passed, 
there came a slope to be gone down, and from the 
top a beautiful picture of the nearest hill, covered 
all over on the France side with a low green for- 
est, so evenly that it seemed carpeted with the 
richest grass. And here I would remark that this 
is the finest piece of wood I have seen in all the 
Pyrenees. At the side of this, on the right, was 



y 



46 THE YANKEE BOY 

the valley of tlie Garonne, and further on another 
hill more barren and less handsome, with a curi- 
ons-looking village and big chm'cli perched npon 
it. St. Bernard is its name. We left it at our 
right, and groped along into the valley. My beau- 
tiful mountain I found on the back side, spotted 
with dry grass and barren rocks. Thus often 
■ — but I haven't time. To the left of us we left 
the Yal d'Aran, from which comes the Garonne, 
and went ourselves up the valley of the Arboust, 
as beautiful as any I have met, and giving one a 
fine first impression of the Pyrenees. 

The torrent that goes through the valley, 
whether dashing or tranquil, is clear, like our 
mountain streams. We see here no more the dirty 
water that comes from the muddy glaciers of Swit- 
zerland. Then the valley is greener, its sides 
handsomer, its houses, though poor enough, neater 
than what you find in the mountain regions of 
Switzerland and Savoy ; and the peasants whom 
we meet, w^hether male or female, as they seemed 
at Montpellier and Toulouse, are a strong, well 
formed, handsome race. Nearly to the extremity 
of the valley, in a flat and rather disagreeable 
basin, is Luchon. Our postilion feels that he is 
coming where people live ; he cracks his whip 
with the most brilliant success. You can hard- 
ly conceive the amount of noise he gets from 
the lash. We dash into a street lined its whole 
extent with a double row of branching trees, and 



FROM HOME. 47 

a double row of well made buildings, mostly of 
one or two stories, neatly painted, and all claim- 
ing to be hotels, or liaving apartments to let. The 
street itself is filled with a gay collection of folk, 
some on foot and some on donkeys ; two pretty 
girls, with black eyes and red flannel petticoats, 
are galloping through on horseback. Your true 
French damsel likes a jauntie dress, red and 
orange and blue. You see them all through the 
street, and displayed profusely in the shops, — 
" Souvenirs de Luchon." 

Luchon is a French watering place, as much 
so as Saratoga is a Yankee one. It puts on airs 
accordingly, l^ow the season is a little passed. 
In another week it will be gone. But let us leave 
Luchon for Luchon's hotels. Somebody had told 
me the place to stop at was the Hotel d' Angleterre. 
I went there. It proved a good-enough hotel, 
only there was neither sitting room, piano, or news- 
paper. Saturday morning I left it for the Hotel 
de Londres, where all of these existed. A rainy 
Saturday and a pleasant Monday followed. Sun- 
day afternoon I made a three-hours' walk into the 
Yal de Lys, which diverges from the Luchon val- 
ley to the right. The road to it goes up hill by 
a clear, pretty stream. The lower part of the 
mountains on each side is overgrown with trees, 
balsam and beech principally. In about three 
miles you come out from the trees into cleared 
mountain slopes, with a very narrow valley, a 



4S THE YAXKEE BOY 

verv little villago, a small waterfall at the foitlier 
end, sheep, iroatj>, and cows, 

Moudav luorninir at six, with a firtiide that I 
had secured the night hetore, I lett Luchon to 
pa*^ through the Port de Yenasque on to 'S'^e- 
iiasque in Spain. The morning had opened hrill- 
iantJv, clear, and sliirhtlv cool, just enouirh so. AVe 
to<Ji: with ns a bottle of wine, some cold meat and 
bread, for a limch. 'We were to moke the trip 
afoot. It commences np the Taller from Luchon 
two miles, till tou cx^me to where thev turn off for 
the Talley of Lys. Ilere, turning to the left, the 
road begins to ascend through a handsome gorge, 
with a l^ur beech wood to line it, and moimtains, 
high, rising over it. The beech wood on this 
side, and the balsams on the other, go about halt- 
way up the mountains : then come clear grounds, 
with picturing, and the tops, as I looked down on 
them afterward, are large sloping fields, filled with 
sheep and goats. On those easy of asc*ent there 
are c-ows. The road, hitherto good for carriages, 
ends with the vallev seven miles fix>m Luchon. 
There is here a small hospnc-e, used both as an hos- 
pice and inn. From this commences the ascent 
of the mountain that leads to the Port de Ve- 
nasque. It is a senii-ctrcular mountain or huge 
wall, barren to the eve, and tousrh in the ascent. 
However, we mounted it, and that ahead of an 
English rector and his daughter, who, on horse- 
back, had passed ns in the valley below. The 



feo:m home. 49 

Port is siiriply a crevasse^ a curiouB one, to be 
Bure, shaped Bomething like a door, in the semi-cir- 
cular wall. It is itself 7,917 feet above the Bca, 
whilst on each side rise huge cliffs of rock i'ar 
above it. Passing through, before us, on the other 
side, across an intervening valley, rises the wliole 
bulk of the Maladetta, the loftiest of the Pyrenees 
(11,420 feet). Toward its summit is a large curved 
basin of snow. The mountain itself is an ugly, 
scowling concern, well named the Accursed; and 
BO all the valley on the Spanish side that we look 
at is surrounded by a disagreeable series of rocky 
hills. 

A few minutes suffice for the view. " A short 
Avay ahead we shall find water for our luncheon," 
said the guide. The English rector and his 
daughter passed us again ; we pressed on in 
descent. My bottle of wine, that I had been 
counting on so much for the luncheon, made a 
descent at the same time from the guide's pocket 
to a little rock there was ; it didn't linger long 
enough to tell its color. The spring, too, that we 
were going to, was dried up. We had to descend 
to the foot of the mountain, where was another 
hospice, horribly wretched, even for Spain. But 
beyond this there was a clear stream ; on its gi^assy 
bank, shaded by a large rock, we took our lunch- 
eon. From here to Yenasque is about ten miles, 
a stony mulepath running tlie whole way near 
the same stream, which soon grew into quite a 
S 



50 THE YANKEE BOY 

river, by wliicli we had our dinner. Yenasqiie, 
the first Spanish town I had seen, is a most filthy 
phice ; all the Spanish villages of this part are 
said to be the same. Its hotel is intolerable. You 
enter through the stable. Still, it was the best 
accommodation we could find. We could go no 
farther that night. The only point was to learn 
the charges. The woman spoke Spanish, which 
the guide translated. Her price was nine francs 
for supper, bed, and breakfast, for myself alone. I 
made short work of this, that I would give no such 
price, and finally engaged a bed and breakfast for 
four francs. There was enough left from the lunch 
for a good supper. The guide took care of him- 
self. In about half an hour the rector came. He 
did hardly as well as I, but got off two francs from 
the nine. 

It was now about four o'clock. The girl, an_ 
other instance of feminine ambition, thought she 
must go and see the town. There couldn't have 
been a meaner sight, I thought ; apparently the 
rector felt the same. He advised that she go to 
bed, but the look that she gave -stopped all that, 
and carried him as far as his hat. From the win- 
dow I saw them disappearing among the pigs, the 
girl, with her skirt in the most improved English 
style, eying each hovel, and the rector dodging 
the donkeys and the porkers. I myself soon fol- 
lowed as far as the outskirts of the town, where I 
came to a cleanly stone arch, that spanned a still 



FROM H03IE. 51 

more cleanly river. Tlie bridge had wide stone 
walls. On one of tliem I lay down, watcliing the 
water roaming beneath, or rising enough to see 
the fields beyond, green in spite of their Spanish 
occupants. Lofty hills and mountains bounded 
them on all sides. There was much that was beau- 
tiful about it. Another little Spanish town, that 
was upon a mountain hill, some three miles in 
front of me, gave a fine background. Over all 
was the soft verdant tinge that comes from the 
Southern clime, and lies like a mantle above the 
Pyrenees. 

Well, here I sat upon the bridge, with the 
general softness about, until the dumb animals 
thought I was a part of the edifice, and quite a 
respectable donkey came and proposed to rub 
himself against my leg. I up with my foot and 
let him have it, right in the face ; then I got 
down and made my way back to the dirty hotel. 
Soon the rector and the girl came. I asked her 
if she had seen the town. She said, ''Yes ; a very 
curious old place." After the supper we had a 
long evening, with political discussions. 

The next day, Tuesday, we were up at six, but 
the Spanish breakfast was not ready till nearly 
eight. There were some trout, that went very 
well. Our return lay for the first ten miles as 
we had come. Passing the hospice, we turned 
to the right, and went along under the Maladetta 
up a high mountain opposite it, that was a contin- 



52 THE YANKEE BOY 

nation of the ridge on wliicli is the Port de Ye- 
nasqne. Something over eight thonsand feet np 
we reached another Port, that penetrated the main 
ridge. Going throngh this there are two paths, 
one rnnning down the mountain into the Yal 
d'Aran, where the source of the Garonne is, the 
other mounting again to the left, up quite a height, 
to the Port de Picard, that lies a little to the 
northeast of the Port de Yenasque. The first of 
these routes the rector went. We took the other, 
and soon stood upon the height, looking down 
upon the paths we had left, and the mountains 
stretching far and wide. The view was fine, but 
near us on the right was the height of one of the 
two cliffs that formed the Port. I told the guide 
we would go on this ; so we did. I think it must 
have been over nine thousand feet. The sio:ht 
from it was magnificent, with a clear atmosphere. 
I was satisfied it must be about the best point of 
view to see the Pyrenees themselves. That from 
the Maladetta would slightly excel it. As on 
the Torrenthorn in Switzerland, we were surround- 
ed by mountains, except one small opening, that 
looked off on the level plains of France. The 
highest of all the Pyrenees, the Maladett'a, lay ap- 
parently within a stone's throw, over the valley. 
Directly below us was the valley of Aran, one of 
the most beautiful in the Pyrenees, with the infant 
Garonne floating through it. On all sides moun- 
tains and valleys are thrown in together, and 



FKOM HOME. 63 

all are covered with some kind of vegetation ; tlie 
high mountains mostly with a withered sort of 
grass, in itself not handsome, but still it gave that 
soft tinge I spoke o:', which you have not at all in 
the Alps, but which here suffuses the w^hole, 
and gives a charm to the Pyrenees peculiar to 
themselves. The little valley that we came up the 
day before, lay opposite to the Yal d'Aran. Its 
sides, that had seemed high mountains, looked 
now like hills fringed below with woods, and ris- 
ing into table lands, where flocks were grazing. 
Quite a number of villages in the different valleys 
were in sight, and many a little stream searching 
for the Garonne. 

These little streams, I might add, acted like so 
many magnets on us. It has been very dry in the 
Pyrenees all the summer — both dry and hot — so 
that all the springs are withered, and all the low^ 
glaciers melted ; we had come many a trying 
mile, finding no water. The guide, who had ap- 
parently been considering why we came up this 
last hill, pointed to the table land below us, and 
said there was a very fine spring there. He waited 
for the effect. It came. 

" Allons." 

With a writer's license I change the scene to a 
rock from which, or under which, came a cool and 
limpid jet of water. I will not tell of the bread and 
cheese I ate, or how many times I held the leath- 
er cup to the cold water ; but when I have the 



54 THE YANKEE BOY 

Cliamoimix English girl, wlio draws so well, make 
me a picture of the Pyrenees, she's going to put 
this rock in the foreground, with the reflection of 
herself in the spring beside it. 



FBOM HOME. 55 



VII. 

PAir, October 13, 1S61. 

Wednesday morning at Luchon I was up de 
hon matin., and found many clouds, thick and 
damp, covering tlie mountains, and settling down 
into the valleys. However, I made my breakfast, 
slung the knapsack on my back over one shoulder, 
the spyglass and shawl over the other, and recom- 
menced touring. I followed a valley road that 
leads off toward Arreau and the baths of Bigorre. 
The hedges, that are in part covered by blackber- 
ry bushes, diverted me into one or two halts; 
otherwise I kept on steadily, through a grazing 
valley, with high unhandsome-looking hills about 
it, three hours, to a small, ill-formed village, where 
a mule path leaves the carriage road, and passes 
through the village of Oo, on, an hour and a half's 
farther walk, to the Lake d'Oo. This is one of the 
few small lakes among the Pyrenees. To see this 
lake was part of the day's work. I turned off, ac- 
cordingly, down a liill-sloj^e on which the dirty 
village was, throngh some meadows lined with 



56 THE YANKEE BOY 

hedges, a mile to tlie village d'Oo. There was 
here a pretty mountain stream passing, and near 
its bank, jnst before reaching a bridge that crossed 
it, a small house, enclosed by a large high wall, 
and on the wooden gate to the wall it said, " Ici on 
sert a boire et a manger." 

Mr. C. said in Switzerland he had noticed I 
never passed a restanrant. "With pleasing fancies 
of the good things within, I drew up to this. 
Alas ! the big gate was closed, fermee a la clef. 
T tried it repeatedly, and, remembering how I had 
failed once at Westport, I pulled as well as pnshed. 
" II n'y a personne," said a bright-looking dam- 
sel, that came along then on a mule, " la madame 
est allee au champ." This was conclusive. I was 
fain to leave — that is, leave the provision I had 
hoped to take, and take the sack I had hoped to 
leave. 

I crossed the bridge. For some hours the 
clouds had been creeping farther down the hill- 
tops, and now, as if all things were arranged, the 
raindrops began to fall, small, wet, and active. I 
raised my umbrella. The dripping of the rain 
upon its top, and the stream below plashing on 
I the boulders, was all the company I had through 
the dreary valley and up the climb of four thou- 
sand feet that ended it. To tell how I felt would 
make a long history, but I can tell v/hat I saw in 
about three lines. There were mountains on two 
sides, entirely covered with clouds. There was a 



FEOM HOME. 57 

long valley below, running off to the fourth side, 
pretty much covered with clouds. There was a 
flock of sheep apparently somewhere between the 
valley and the mountains, but it was so mist}^ I 
couldn't w^ell place them. Then, on top of the 
mountain where I had reached, was a small rude 
inn ; the people inside told me, that directly in 
front, only a few rods off, was the lake d'Oo. It 
seemed very probable, as I had noticed the mist 
in that direction was thicker than anywhere else. 
Within the inn was one French party and one 
English, that had come, as I did, for pleasure. 
They had a wood fire arranged in the large fire- 
place. By it they were drying themselves, whilst 
waiting for the lunch. The Englishman growled 
to see a newcomer, whilst the Frenchman upset 
almost everything about him in trying to give 
me a place. I assured him I was neither cold 
nor wet, didn't wish to get any nearer the fire 
than the dinner table, and here, after unstrapping 
my baggage, I sat me down. 

For my limch I got precisely what I wanted : 
a large pitcher of new milk, with bread and 
peaches. When I had finished I looked again out 
the door. The clouds had lifted ; such as it was, 
the little lake was before me. It is but a small 
round pond, a quarter of a mile, perhaps, across. 
1 could see but little of the mountains that hem- 
med it in. It was now two o'clock. There was no 
hotel until I reached Arreau, and to Arreau it 
3* 



58 THE YAI^KEE BOY 

would take at least six hours. The way was back 
to the village cl'Oo, then by a short cut through 
the fields to the highway, and after that, " tout 
droit." The short cut proved but fifteen minute-s 
long, when the highway, though somewhat mud- 
dy, made good walking. In crossing from one 
valley into the other, it crosses a mountain spur 
of six thousand feet, by a continuous succession of 
zigzags. The road is macadamized and thorough- 
ly built, as much so as those in the Alps. Occa- 
sionally the clouds would sweep out from the val- 
ley, showing a clear bright stream in the centre, 
lined by rich green meadows, where droves of cat- 
tle and sheep were feeding. It is wholly — all the 
valleys of the Pyrenees — a grazing land. You see 
no vineyards, but sheep, cows, and horses in the 
fields, with, occasionally, patches of wheat, of oats, 
and of Indian corn. 

By the time I had passed the summit and com- 
menced the descent into the Yal d'Aure, the shades 
of night were gathering, surely, if not fast, and 
Arreau yet was so far away that to half the peas- 
ants it was a myth. There were, though, in sight, 
in this new valley, a half dozen villages. Prettily 
enough they looked from the hill, with the ruins 
of old castles about them ; old and dreary enough 
they all proved when I passed through them, with 
no hotel fit to be called such. The valley was 
wider and larger than any I had seen, and would 
doubtless have looked very handsomely in a clear 



FEOM HOME. 59 

light. A strong young stream went tlirongh its 
centre. This I crossed ; after that I conld but see 
the way, growing less and less distinct, till, when 
I. had arrived at Arreau, all the night was 
black : the time between seven and eight. At 
Arreau, a compact Frenchy town, I found a toler- 
able hotel, where a dark-eyed girl showed me to 
my room. 

Thursday — Arreau to Grip. There is a car- 
riage road all the way, but it has many zigzags, 
and goes far out of the direct course. I went by 
mulepaths over two mountain spurs. It rained in 
showers ; large, beautiful black clouds above, or 
breaking away, so as to leave nearly the whole 
sky blue. Perhaps it was this that made all 
things look so fresh, and gave to the wide valley 
and its mountain borders a beauty I had not seen 
in Switzerland. But you have not the Swiss lakes, 
nor anywhere have I met so charming a spot for 
a home as the Canton of Zurich, or the wide, large 
valley where Coire is, as you descend from the 
Splugen Pass. The valley I was in now is the 
valley d'Aure. Yesterday I came down into it 
from its upper end, and now left it from its lower. 
The second mountain spur that I spoke of crossing 
could hardly be called that. It was rather an ele- 
vated plateau, rising a thousand feet from the val- 
ley, and covered with pastures and ploughed land. 
I passed one field where they were digging pota- 
toes. The potatoes were large round white ones, 



60 THE YAITKEE BOY 

the same tliat are common with ns. Some of the 
fields of grass were watered by springs, and beau- 
tifully green. On these were droves of sheep pas- 
turing, which are abundant throughout the Pyi-e- 
nees. Scattered everywhere were the peasants' 
houses, the same that I used to see in the coun- 
try near Tours — ^low, one story, rather long, and 
plastered. Some of them looked quite neat, many 
quite forlorn. From these table lands you come 
down into the little vale where Grip lies. The 
whole of it seems a green sward of the freshest 
verdure ; through its centre, as through all these 
valleys, is a trout stream. The length of the val- 
ley must be five miles, and the width half a mile. 
It, too, is filled with low houses. At Grip there 
was no black-eyed girl, but I had, to console me, 
some brook trout — and to bed. 

Friday morning it was cold ; all the mountains 
were covered with snow and large clouds, the 
clearing up of the last two days' storm. I was to 
go to Luz by another mulepath, over a mountain 
of seven thousand feet. Snow was abundant on 
each side of the summit, but fast melting in the 
noonday. The route itself is mostly uninteresting, 
soon losing sight of the valley of Grip. You de- 
scend upon Bareges, quite a town, and watering 
place for the sick. I stopped at a stand an instant 
to buy some peaches and a tomato, and discovered, 
after I had left the village an hour, that I had also 
left my umbrella. 'Twas a good three miles up 



FEOM HOME. 61 

liill for the chance of finding, but I went it with 
success. The little girl that sold the fruit had it 
laid aside. She was a bright, honest little girl. I 
gave her half a franc, and should have given more, 
but I thought I had had the hardest part. 

From Bareges to Luz is about six miles, 
through a narrow but handsome valley, and by a 
stream that swells to quite a river. Saturday 
there was a beautiful day. I have already written 
how I went up the Pic des Bergons. ISTever mind, 
here's to its memory again. It lies close by Luz, 
is something over six thousand feet in height, and 
is surrounded by many other peaks, some of them 
still higher. Arrived at the top, I found numerous 
sights ; the first and most agreeable, a slight cov- 
ering of snow, with a little harvest of whortleber- 
ries. I kept looking at these quite a long time. 
Then a very immense flock of crows came and 
looked at me, told all sorts of tales about who I 
was, and where I came from, and seemed finally 
to have concluded, by a union effort, to make 
w^ar upon me, and wipe me into the gulf. I had 
stood their attentions without a word, but when 
it came to this, and they began to swoop in cir- 
cles about my head, coming nearer each time, I 
seized a couple of rocks, and waiting until they 
were below me, mider the precipice of the moim- 
tain, I flung them. The whole flock dodged into 
each other, and retired, totally demoralized. The 
exact loss of the enemy I cannot tell, but it must 



62 THE YANKEE BOY 

liave been very severe, probably between three 
and four liundred, and among tliem a large num- 
ber of officers. There was a little darky of an 
angle worm by ns that thought they were all 
killed, but he was too frightened to see straight. 
Besides the snow, the whortleberries, and the 
crows, there was the view ; this was of Luz valley 
and of Luz ; of the valley that stretched out to 
Gavarnie, near which is Mount Perdre and the 
Briche de Roland. To the east is the Pic du Midi 
de Bigorre. ISTorth you have a limited extent of 
the plains of France. Mount Perdre is the second 
in height of the Pyrenees, 11,168 feet, and is a 
much handsomer-formed mountain, as seen from 
this distance, than the Maladetta. It has, too, an 
advantage in the mountains that surround it. The 
Briche de Poland is a very curious square opening 
in the mountain ridge, of about three hundred feet. 
All through in this part of the range snow and 
glaciers cover the tops. Palling down over the 
wall at Gavarnie, I could see many streams com- 
ing from the glacier above. 

Sunday was another beautiful day. I could 
hear of no Protestant worshij), and spent the day 
mostly in my room. In the afternoon, however, 
I made a short walk up the valley, to where a 
new and very fine stone arch has been thrown 
across the river, so as to connect St. Sauveur with 
the road that leads from Luz to Gavarnie. Mon- 
day another fair day ; by diligence I came down 



FROU H03IE. 63 

the valley, out from the mountains, into the open 
land that stretches off unbroken toward Tarbes, and 
into the heart of France. The first part of the 
way was through the most of a gorge that I had 
seen amongst the Pyrenees. At Pierfitte the val- 
ley widens handsomely into large fields of Indian 
corn, and only low mountains in advance. Once 
through these, we are again among the prairies. I 
enjoyed the country from here to Tarbes. There 
is a home look about it with the mountains close 
behind us. Tarbes is an nninviting French chef- 
lieu, a fourth-rate city. I nsed the time I had in 
visiting a collection of stallions, kept here by the 
Government. Amongst them were some fine 
Arabians. Otherwise the collection, which was 
chiefly of English blood, was greatly inferior to 
ours, as we often see them at agricultural fairs. 

Tarbes to Pan is quite a distance, but I had 
mostly a night ride. What I saw was seen by 
starlight — a good light to see a lassie in, but bad 
for pictures. 



64 THE TANKEE BOY 



VIII. 

Pat;, November 3, 1S61. 

I THINK, by my last, I left Pan, a lassie, and 
the stars, mixed up together. We will leave the 
lassie with the stars yet, but Pau I have seized, 
and shall hold it np to talk abont. The pastor, 
with whom I am now, and who is from Blois, de- 
clares it is a ''vilaine ville." The yonnger chil- 
dren, who have forgotten Blois, think differently, 
and talk abont its charming promenades, and the 
beanty of its mountain landscape. I, as having 
been at both, am often appealed to, bnt with 
finesse have thus far refrained from committing 
myself. A happy thought, however, struck me at 
dinner the other day, and I exclaimed, when a si- 
lence came : 

" J'aime beaucoup Blois." 

" Bravo ! " shouted the pastor, and looked tri- 
umphantly about him. 

'' Oui, je I'aime beaucoup, parce que j'ai vu 
dans la rue une petite demoiselle, tres jauntie." 

The children laughed, the oldest girl smiled. 



FROM HOME. 65 

and tlie j)astor told his wife, lie would take "im 
petit pen de pommc de tcrre." 

But to write descriptively, giving at the same 
time an historical touch — '^ Pan, ancient capital 
of the little kingdom of French Navarre and 
Beam, now chef-lieu of the Dept. des Basses 
Pyrenees, stands on a lofty ridge, forming the 
right bank of the river, or Gave de Pan, and has 
15,171 inhabitants." There you have it, arranged 
by Murray, in a nutshell. We might add, gen- 
erally, that it has a reputation for the dryness and 
softness of its winter air ; hence several thousand 
strangers, for the most part English, come here to 
pass their winters. Its situation, too, has beauty 
in it, combining wooded hills with prairies, and 
lofty mountains. We will let farther description 
come, in telling what I saw. As I said, it was night 
w^hen I came. At the hotel where the diligence 
stopped, I took a bed. The first thing, in the 
morning, was the post office. This is toward the 
centre of the principal business street, the Pue de 
la Prefecture. Two letters ! and one short paid, 
but 'twas in a dainty envelope, and I suggested 
that it didn't appear very heavy. The postman 
suggested that I go to Paris and have it weighed. 
A lively idea this, and I left, thinking how viva- 
cious these Frenchmen are. 

Letters, if readable, are soon read. Mine were 
very readable. I read them, perhaps reread them, 
and again sought the open air in the streets of the 



6G THE YAl^KEE BOY 

town. "Wliere sliall I take my apartment, and how 
much of an apartment sliall it be ? These are try- 
ing questions in a strange place, and require good 
thought. This evidently is the main rue, I rumi- 
nated, exploring more tiilly la Rue de la Prefec- 
ture. If I take quarters upon its borders I shall 
see a great deal, and hear a good deal more. A 
neat street turned off to the left. I followed it. 
A short distance brought me to a large church. A 
little way from the church, hanging from the win- 
dow of a stone building, was the wooden placard, 
" Chambre garnie a loner." It was precisely the 
chance I wanted, I knew by the looks, and en- 
tered to make inquiries. I reached the upper 
hall, but as I reached it a young girl was opening 
the window, and leaning out enough to exj)Ose a 
little her ankle, she seized, as her prize, the wooden 
card I had called mine. I didn't know until she 
turned how much I cared. 

" Elle est louee ? " 

" Oui, monsieur." 

There was a bright color to her dress that w^as 
very pretty, and a bright blush to her cheek that 
was very becoming — but the chamber was let. 

I think it was my ill success here that gave me 
a serious turn, and drove me to the French pastor. 
I found him tolerably disposed for a pensionnaire, 
and so arranged for a month. He lived just at the 
outskirts of the town, in the lower part of a large 
maison, and is the pastor over r£'glue fraiigaise 



i 



FEOM HOME. 67 

Teforndee. His congregation meets in the Englisb. 
clmrcli, and is small, but yet there is here another 
French Protestant society, still smaller, called 
VEcjlisG libre. There is very little difference be- 
tween them ; it lies mostly in a tunic, and short 
liturgy, that connect with the reformed, but not 
with the free church. 

To go back to Pan. There are in the village, 
or about it, quite a number of promenades ; the 
most frequented are the Park and Place Poyale. 
From either of these we get the view of the Pyre- 
nees. The park is one of the pleasantest I have 
seen, with magnificent old beech trees. It lies on 
a long ledge, that extends for a mile above the river. 
The Place Royale is only a square w^ithin the city. 
There are many seats about it, and, being so cen- 
tral, it keeps lively with children and stragglers. 
Here, too, every Thursday and Sunday afternoon, 
is music by the military band. The music is re- 
markably good, and Thursdays, if the day is fine, 
there is, aside from the music, a handsome show of 
good-looking carriages and well-dressed demoiselles. 

To finish my sketches of Pau for this week, I 
will follow one or two of the other walks that I 
make most familiar. At the farther extremity of 
the park you can, if you choose, by a few rods 
across the meadow, strike into a wide diligence 
route, that keeps a direct course, near the river, as 
far as the eye looks. As yet I have only followed 
it with the eye, for it's a dusty, dreary route ; but, 



68 THE YANKEE BOY 

branching from it, to the right, a bypath leads off, 
Yery soon winds np the hill, nnder large chestnnt 
trees, with a little ravine alongside, picks its way 
through an acorn orchard, where pigs reside, and 
then lines itself with hedges, and with fields, on 
the level of the prairie lands. Here yon have the 
mountain view again, with all its beauty and no 
folk. But the handsomest borders, for a walk, are 
on the other side of the river. Here are loftier 
hills, with woods and brush about them. Once on 
their top you can look to all sides, at Pan and its 
long park, still covered with leaves drooping over 
the river, or at the tranquil vales, that catch an 
autumn hue, and the wide gaps, that darken 
themselves within the Pyrenees. 

JSfovemher 24. — I went to the Scotch church 
this morning, and happened to reach the gate with 
the pastor. I bade him the good morning, which 
he returned, adding that he should be happy to 
have me call on him, if I was to be here long. I 
mean to do so, as, indeed, I had intended to do. I 
closed my engagement with the French pastor this 
week. I have rented me another chamber, into 
which I am to move to-morrow. Since the day 
before yesterday, I am taking my meals at a pen- 
sion restaurant, at TO francs a month, vin coin^ris. 
My room is in a large, well-built building, and well 
furnished, but being in the third story, and it being 
late in the season to rent, I get it for thirty francs a 
month, or, if I stay, after two months, at twenty-five. 



FEOM HOME. 69 

Decemler 1. — An annt of mine told me that I 
should not write Sunday, but I can't find any- 
thing better to do, and, aside from that, haven't 
much other time to write. Je sids hien occupe 
toiUc la semcdne. I consider neither of the excuses 
to have any vahie, not near so good an explanation 
as I made the little pastor, about my going into 
the cafe Sunday. As soon as he could determine 
the tone of voice, he said : 

" Yous allez an cafe les dimanches, monsieur, 
c'est tres mauvais." 

" Je crois que oui, monsieur, bien mauvais, et 
je fais beaucoup de mauvaises choses tons les 
jours." 

We are a good deal occupied this side with 
Abram's success over the English merchantman. 
It promises to cost dear, but that comes after. 
The liberal French papers to-day show themselves 
true to the starry flag, but the girls, les Mesdemoi- 
selles Slidell, are just calculated to place the spirit 
of gallantry against us. 

Moved into, I am entirely pleased with my 
new quarters. I have bought me near a quarter 
of a cord of wood ; with the sawing and bringing 
up, it cost me three dollars. I think it will last 
me through the winter. Tliis week I have had 
but one fire. Roses are yet plentiful in the 
garden. 

Decenribcr 13. — I take La Presse this month, 
and get all my news from it. With the pastor I 



70 THE YANKEE BOY-' 

had the Journal des Debats^ but after the first of 
January I mean to take the Siecle^ which is the 
most liberal of all the Paris papers, and, in the 
threatened war with Great Britain, argues earn- 
estly for the Kepublican cause. The Presse on 
most points is a liberal paper, but it has shown all 
the while a spleen against the United States. It 
uses the affair of the Trent to vent its spleen, and 
advocates that JN'apoleon should join with England 
against us. I still hope that Lincoln, Chase, and 
Seward will have yielded in the Trent affair, 
where we were evidently in the wrong. It's hard 
that at this time we must be saddled with such a 
man as Welles ; that an immense nation must per- 
ish, rather than that the feelings of a few weak 
men should suffer. 

We continue to have the pleasantest of weath- 
er. I sit without overcoat, and both window^s 
open. I noticed again to-day, roses, abundantly 
in bloom, in the gardens of a chateau. In JLa 
Presse, this evening, there is nothing readable but 
Bright's speech in England. 

Deceinber 30. — Had this week an invitation to 
a Scotch gathering, and went to the same. I was 
received, at first, almost as dubiously as Captain 
Wilkes thought he was on board the Trent, when 
searching the embodied despatches. However, 
they found my temper unexceptionably good, and 
whilst I declared that Captain Wilkes was as 
brave as a lion. I didn't claim that he had occa- 



FROM HOME. 71 

sioii to sliow liis bravery in the affair of tlie Trent. 
In fact, in spite of several spirited attacks of elder- 
ly ladies, I refused to commit myself on tliat ac- 
tion, but said generally, what I still think must 
prove true, that there was very little probability 
of a war from it. Seeing I was a man of peace, 
and not disposed for the present to vaunt Young 
America, there was a relaxation in my favor. One 
of the young misses felt enough interest in the 
general subject, to ask quite good-naturedly from 
what part I came. 1 assured her that I was from 
'New England. 

" Oh, that's in the South, is it not ? " 

" No, not precisely ; rather more in the North. 
In fact, it borders upon Canada." 

'' I believe there are a great many handsome 
lakes in Canada, are there not ? " 

You will see she had got me again. I hardly 
know what my answ^er was, but I've no doubt she 
thinks yet that Canada is a land abounding in 
soft lakes and orange blossoms. 

January/ 5. — As an illustration of French man- 
ner in a business matter : I subscribed for the 
Slede, the 28tli December, at a news agent's here, 
and it has not yet come. It was to commence the 
1st. The 2d, I went to see why it had not come. 
They were astonished that I had expected it so 
quickly. There was always a delay of several days 
here, and then again at Paris, so that it never 
came in less than seven, or from that to fifteen 



72 THE YANKEE BOY 

days ; but they assured me that all back num- 
bers would be sent, from the 1st. 

I believe I have nothing new to report. I^one 
of our girls are yet married, that I hear of. There 
is a Spanish' girl here that looks like the pictures 
of Eugenie. Her features are very fine, and she 
herself thoroughly one's idea of that Spanish beau- 

" The Seville girl, with auburn hair, 
And eyes that might the world have cheated." 

She has a younger sister, the shadow of herself, 
but quite young yet : 

" "We'll let her stand a year or twa." 

January 12. — "We Americans are all well 
pleased with Honest Abe's victory over the Eng- 
lish, and don't hesitate to tell them their chance is 
by, and when they call again on Brother Jon- 
athan, they will find him in condition to send 
them after the cow that jumped over the moon. 
— For dinner to-day I had chicken boiled with the 
French beans. Marv Anne assured me there was 
but one legii7ne. 

February 1. — ^The steamer this week is en re- 
tard. At last reports Honest Abe had called a 
cotillon, balanced partners, and Burnside's fleet 
was leading down the centre. 

March 5. — We have been having carnival yes- 
terday and to-day, which I find they make much 



FEOM HOME. Y3 

more of here than at Tours. Stores are closed, and 
crowds strolling about the streets. What concerns 
me more, mj Siecle of last night told me it wouldn't 
come to-day. As regards carnival, yesterday there 
was a mammoth parade of hideously decked wag- 
ons, oxen, horses, " mayors and asses," followed 
by a crowd, through all the streets, whilst all who 
were not in the crowd looked out of the windows, 
or leaned from balconies. The show was supposed 
to be got ujD for the benefit of the poor, and the 
carts arranged so that money cou^d be thrown into 
them, as they passed. Also a horde of fantastic 
ally dressed vagabonds followed, carrying long 
poles, which they thrust into everybody's face, and 
held there, till one put in, or pretended to put in, 
some sous. These poles reached up easily to the 
second story, but I, from the third, mocked at 
them. To-day closes the farce, with all Pau prom- 
enading through one of the longest streets, with 
hands and pockets filled with corn, bouquets, 
beans, and oranges, which every one flings into 
every one else's face. The English and Americans 
join in the frolic, especially from their houses, 
and, indeed, from all the windows and balconies 
showers of corn are continually falling. "When I 
left, in many places the street was covered with 
grain, which poor people were trying to gather 
into baskets. We have had a beautiful day. This 
morning, before the crowd had commenced, I took 
a walk, soon coming among the fields. Yesterday 
4 



74 THE YANKEE BOY 

it was stormy among the mountains, so to-day tliey 
were newly whitened. The spring, too, advances, 
grass begins to start, and yiolets to flower. 

Taebes, March 11, 1862. 

This morning I had intended to go to Aire, 
fifty kilometres (abont thirty miles), by diligence, 
and thence on to Bordeaux at ten p. m. This dili- 
gence proved full, but I could take another for 
Tarbes, and go on to-morrow at eight o'clock to 
Bordeaux. I started at eleven o'clock, my seat in 
the interior. Tlie interior is very like the hotel 
stages with us, but in front there is the coupe for 
three, and back another third-class apartment, for 
four. To-day there were six — the full number — 
in the interior. We reached here at half past three. 
The afternoon was stormy ; much of the country, 
that we passed, heaths, like whortleberry plats, 
stretching afar. At times, however, we looked down 
into the valley of the Garve de Pau, that varies 
in width from a half mile to three miles, and lies 
a meadow land, green with the advancing spring. 
As we begin to sink from the height of land into 
the Tarbes valley, the scene is one of the finest I 
have met in France. As far as we could see to-day, 
that is, some miles, against the clouds, was a great 
inland vale, entirely level, like the flats of the 
Connecticut river. Within it were several large 
villages — Tarbes the largest. 



FEOH HOME. T5 

IIoTKL DE Paris, a Bokdeatjs, Thursday afternoon. 

Saturday morning, according to the j>lan, 1 left 
Tarbes at something past eight o'clock. From 
Tarbes to Aire the road runs in the valley of the 
Ardour, and there are fine meadows, with a pleas- 
ant enongh conntry. After leaving Aire, wdth 
but one exception, there is not a feature pleasing 
to the eye, till you reach Bordeaux. The view of 
Mont cle Marsan is pretty ; I thonght it looked re- 
markably so in the glimpse w^e had. Leaving this, 
w^e enter the Departement des Landes, which 
raises only pines, stunted, from the poverty of the 
soil, and from having their trunks more or less 
peeled, for the procuring of rosin. 

'^ There are no homes in France." Many trav- 
ellers that quote this remark may do so ignorant- 
ly ; and yet an observing person cannot fail to see 
that the morally aimless life in which a large part 
of the nation lives, can never develop the manly, 
honest, and thoughtful mind, from which alone 
home pleasures can come. " "VYe keep our Sun- 
days very badly ; there is very little religion in 
France," said the Rev. Frederic Monod to me at 
Paris. Here lies the trouble ; and until a more 
enlightened education shall have brought the Bible 
to the thirty millions that now read it not, the 
generosity, frankness, and kindness of the French 
will remain, as they are now, wdthered and con- 
cealed by vices that flourish far more easily. 

I reached here at half past four yesterday. This 



76 THE YANKEE BOY 

morning I liave looked over tlie city, and been 
upon tlie cathedral, whence is the perfect view. 
There is more appearance of shipping than I have 
met before in France. Along the quay, I conld 
think myself in South street, Kew York, with the 
amonnt of masts that rise from the river. The 
whole view did not please me so mnch as that 
from Lyon. The centre of the city, thongh, is 
fine ; the garden of plants handsome ; and the Ga- 
ronne joins itself to the ocean, knowing it has 
grown to be a broad river. I find two young 
Americans here at the hotel ; we made together a 
social evening last night. To-morrow I intend 
going to Tours, by express through in nine hours. 

Pakis, March 20. 

There is no coimtry in France like Touraine ; 
rich and fertile in its soil, neat and comely in its 
appearance. From Bordeaux I came once more 
to Tours, Friday night. The country through 
which we passed was a pleasant farming district, 
Poitiers the largest of its cities. Arrived at Tours, 
I walked to the hotel where I had before board- 
ed, and received from all a cordial recognition. 
Ceci herself, the next day, when I entered the 
reading rooms, brought to me the English paper, 
and fair Touraine blushed, in its youthful spring, 
at my eager regard. I stopped over the Sabbath. 
Monday, through Le Mans, I came to Paris. At 
Le Mans we had an hour. One of the best depot 



FEOM HOME. 77 

restaurants supplied breakfast. The city, what 1 
saw of it, looked very much like all French cities 
of its size, (28,000 population.) All the way the 
route was pleasing, till Versailles and Sevres, seen 
before, bade us watch for Paris, and La Station de 
Mont Parnasse. Through the city, afoot, with 
my carpet bag, I played again the Yankee boy, in- 
quiring prices at some half dozen hotels, until I 
secured a room at one of the best. Hotel de Bade, 
Eoulevart des Italiens, for two and a half francs 
the night, service included. I still keep the room 

" Did you see that telegrapliic despatch ? " 

" JS^o ; what is it ? " 

" Read it. If that's so, we'd better separate." 

So much I hear from some near me, in the 
American reading rooms, at Munro's, where I am 
writing, and suppose we are defeated. Find, by 
inquiry, that wliat frightened our friend is that 
Lincoln was becoming abolitionized. That's bad, 
but— 

Hue de Ponthieu, Champs Ply sees. — I have 
rented me a chamber in this pleasant locality, at 
sixty francs the month, service included. 

This week we have had some fine weather. 
The trees are quite green. To enjoy the fine days, 
I have taken several rides upon the omnibuses. 
They all have half-price seats on top, and so, for 
three cents, you can ride from one extremity of 
the line to the other — two or more miles. By 
taking different routes, you can in this way see all 



78 THE YANKEE BOY 

of Paris, its sli02:>s, its houses, and its people. 
Our political news runs to tlie 15tli. An 
Englisliman, wlio lias the next room, thinks the 
Southerners a set of cowards. " The sad mistake 
was, that they didn't march on "Washington after 
the battle of Manassas. They could have taken 
it," he says, and then he sighs. ^' I have quar- 
relled with every d — d Englishman I have met, 
since leaving Halifax," said a Boston merchant in 
Munro's yesterday. 



FROM HOME. 79 



IX. 

Bonn, Petjssia, May 16, 1862. 

It is now after eleven, and tlie train leaves at 
a quarter past twelve for Amsterdam, where I go 
to-day. I did not leave Paris till Tuesday morn- 
ing, the 6th. R staid with me Monday night, 

and came to the depot Tuesday morning. The 
train left at twelve, and went as far as ISTancy^ 
where a good hotel kept me, and nightingales 
sang for me in its garden. Wednesday morning I 
stopped at Strasburg, going on that night to Ba- 
den Baden. The next day I had a pleasant 
walk on the hill back of the town. Trees and 
mountains diversify the view. That afternoon I 
reached Heidelberg, and went to the castle ruins, 
and from these on to the highest mountain near, 
from which is one of the finest German landscape 
views. 

Friday I rode to Eberstadt, stopping to make 

a call upon H 's wife, wlio had been for some 

time learning German in a pastor's family near. 
The town proved small, with a poor hotel. I 



80 THE YANKEE EOT 

made tliem •anderstancl tliat I. wanted a room, and 
witli the aid of wliat little German I conld re- 
member, I inquired my way to the pastor's honse. 
They were expecting me, and had prepared every- 
thing so that I should stop with them. After a 
little thought I consented, and removed my sack. 
There were in the family the pastor and his wife, 
who only si^oke German, one married daughter 
with her husband, who spoke a little English, and 
an unmarried girl, bright and pretty, who talked 
English very well. That afternoon w^e took a 
walk to see the farms near, and a field where turf 
was prepared for fuel. The next day we had a 
lonai: excursion to several old castles on the moun- 
tains, and through a number of villages, in all at 
least twelve miles of walking. The girls were ap- 
parently as well equal to it as myself. Sunday, 

with Mrs. R , I attended the village church. 

Monday morning I prepared to start, but there 
was so hard a general pressure to have me stop an- 
other day, that I compromised by proposing a trip 
to Frankfort. We made a nice trip, looked over 
the paintings, the animals, statuary, and cemetery, 
took our dinner at the hotel, and returned at eight 

f o'clock. 
Tuesday, with the cars, brought m^e to May- 
ence, and, in the boat, down the Ehine to Coblentz. 
Wednesday morning I went on the principal for- 
tification, Ehrenbreitstein, built on a hill opposite 
Coblentz, and commanding a fine view of the 



FROM HOME. 81 

Klimo in botli directions. Here I became ac- 
quainted with two young Prussians, who spoke 
English easily. We all took the same boat down 
the river, and stopped together to ascend one of 
the Seven Mountains ; the one nearest the Rhine. 
A magnificent view it was, but it suggested itself 
to us all, that from another of the seven, that lay 
several miles farther back from the river, the view 
must be much more extended. Should we go ? 
It was a good hour and a half's walk with a guide, 
said the hotel keeper ; we might lose the night 
boat : but what of that ? A cup of coffee to travel 
on, a boy for a guide, — from the highest of the sev- 
en mountains, whence is tlie most extensive view 
along the Rhine, we looked to the setting sun. 
Though the day was not clear, scarcely anything 
in the line of prospect has charmed me so much 
since leaving home. Church spires here again 
grace the villages, farm houses look good, orchards 
tell of home comforts, wood and trees grow natu- 
rally, not trimmed down, as in France. The last 
boat down the river was an hour late, so that we 
ourselves in our return were in time,- and by it 
sailed here to Bonn. 

York, England, May 21. 

After looking over the university buildings at 
Bonn, I left by cars for Amsterdam, but from the 
train's being late, failed to connect, and only got 
as far as Ennnerich in Prussia. Here, at a com- 
fortable hotel, I passed the night, had breakfast, 
4* 



82 THE YANKEE BOY 

and at eight o'clock left again for Amsterdam, 
which we reached at noon. I went to the Bible 
Hotel. To go to Ilnll I learned I must take 
the boat at Rotterdam, that sailed twice a week, 
Wednesdays and Saturdays, leaving with the tide. 
After a drive about the city, and a lunch, I came 
through Harlaam and La Hague to Rotterdam. 
Rotterdam I left at twelve o'clock with the steamer 
for Hull. Sunday at ten we landed. I stopped 
at the first good-looking hotel I saw, leaving this 
morning for this place. 

To-day I have been to see the races, but only 
staid through the first, as it commenced raining. 
This was enough to see how the whole thing was 
done. The horses were ridden, the riders having 
spurs. The track is covered with turf, and straight. 
In this race thirteen horses ran, three of them 
coming out almost evenly, though one of them 
was declared winner. Betting was everywhere 
going on, and people lounging about very much 
as at a horse trot with us. Returning from the 
race, I went to the reading rooms, finding news up 
to the 10th in St. 

I made a German's acquaintance last evening, 
here at our hotel. He was from Bremen, and was 
engaged in the cotton trade, exporting last year 
many thousand bales, this year none at all. He 
spoke, though, good-naturedly of the war, and was 
well disj)Osed toward us. We looked over together 
the cathedral, a most magnificent building. 



FEOM HOME. 83 

BoEo' Bridge, seventeen miles from York, ) 
Tuesday night, 9 o'clock, j" 

I started from York yesterday, and made this 
seventeen miles with my knapsack, sto]3ping sev- 
eral times on the roadside to rest and read the 
morning paper, that I bonght before starting. I 
also stopped at an inn for some bread, butter, and 
beer, wiiicli stood me in seven cents. At this 
place, which was formerly the halfway station for 
the post route from London to Edinburgh, there 
are some eighteen inns or taverns. The one 
where I am is a large, well-kept one, called the 
Crown Inn. In old times it undoubtedly did a 
large business, but now, like the rest, scarcely any. 
To-day has been clear and fine, " Yery warm, 
sir," as they have told me ever since landing at 
Hull, though I find it necessary to keep on two 
flannel shirts. We had quite a frost last week. 
I should think it almost possible to-night. 

Londonderry, fourteen miles from Boro' Bridge, » 

May 2(5. j" 

It is now just five o'clock. In a comfortable 
inn at this small place, I am passing the night. I 
did not leave Boro' Bridge till noon. I follow the 
old post road from London to Glasgow, hence there 
are " hinns " every three or four miles, pretty much 
all of them small brick houses, " licensed to sell 
ale, porter, beer, and spirituous liquors, to be drank 
on the premises." At one of them to-day I had 
some rye bread, milk, and butter, for three pence. 



84 THE YANKEE BOY 

The Sunday was more expensive, two dollars, 
including an extra breakfast and two niglits' 
lodging. At York tliey charged me $5.50 for 
three days, without dinners. The day is windy. 
Large clouds are driving about that threaten 
showers ; as yet it has rained very little. Yester- 
day, at Boro' Bridge, I attended in the morning a 
well-built stone parish church. In the afternoon I 
saw qnite a number of people going in anotlier di- 
rection. I followed to an awkward-looking, two 
storied, brick Methodist chapel. A young man, 
seeing me near the door, asked me to his seat up 
stairs, for, small as was the building, it had a gal- 
lery around it. Both 'up stairs and down it was 
well filled. Fortunately there was for the day a 
very excellent preacher from Bipon. Both his af- 
ternoon and evening sermons were superior. One 
or two of the tunes sung I knew. The singing 
was verv fair. After the afternoon service I took 
quite a stroll toward the next village of Allbor- 
ough. On the road I met a number of fine cows, 
and saw many more in the fields ; an immense 
improvement over the cattle I have been accus- 
tomed to see in France. 

Sitting down on a rock to study a maj) of Eng- 
land, an honest-looking Englishman passed me. I 
hailed him to inquire about distances, and told him 
soon that I was American. He was very cordial, 
and gave me a good deal of information, but was 
emphatic on the point that England and France 



FROM HOME. 85 

could enforce a peace in America, any moment 
tliey wished. This was modest enough, and I 
didn't object. 

Barnaed Castle, May 23. 

Yesterday morning I hardly made an early 
start, or very fast travelling after starting. For 
the night I stopped at a small roadside inn, seven 
miles from Londonderry, and six before reaching 
Greta Bridge. For supper I had bread and milk. 
The milk was most excellent : making inquiries 
about the cow, the landlord told me he owned 
the place where he lived, having bought it the 
year before. The wife suggested, perhaps I would 
like to see the land. I assented willingly, and 
made a comj)lete tour through the meadow and 
j)asture, wheat and barley fields, and, after those, 
the turnip and oat patch, in all forty acres of light 
soil, besides a garden with fruit and berry bushes 
in abundance. He had paid two hundred dollars 
the acre. The house is an ordinary two-story old 
stone house. With the exception of one other, his 
w^as the only farm in the neighborhood owned by 
the occupant. 

Wednesday morning gave me a bread-and- 
milk breakfast, with a bill of 75 cents. With an- 
other clear day, I kept on my route to Greta 
Bridge, along by the Rokeby grounds. I leaned 
some time against the bridge, to feel the beauty 
of the place, and hear the birds sing of E.ignal 
banks and Greta woods. Making then a semicir- 



S6 THE YANKEE BOY 

cle, I came into Barnard Castle at just one o'clock. 
There is here an old town, black and dismal, but 
with a very homelike Temperance Hotel. After 
dinner I went to see the castle, looked at its 
ruined walls, and then mounted on its old tow^er 
to see the beauties of the Tees, with the bluffs and 
the moors to the north, and the hazy outlines of 
the Cleveland hills to the south. Lying on the 
ivy-coated top, with my glass I examined the high 
railroad bridge that crossed the Tees two miles 
above, and was built at an expense of $150,000. 

Bishop Auckland, May 30. 

I have left the old Glasgow route for a dash at 
E"ewcastle. I hesitated some time to do it, but 
I doubt whether in all England I could have found 
a spot of more exquisite beauty than the Bishop 
of Durham's grounds, that are situated here. I 
passed on the road Kaby Castle, seat of the Duke 
of Cleveland, a fine large old castle, with woods 
and lawns for miles around it, and hundreds of 
deer roaming in sight. 

It is half past ten now. The weather to-day has 
been misty, with a little drizzle, but mostly good 
for walking ; distance from Barnard Castle fifteen 
miles. This town has some four thousand people, 
I should judge ; is old and cheerless, at least we 
should think it so, though a great improvement 
upon villages of the same size in France. I intend 
writing to-morrow to Edinburgh, to have my let- 
ters forwarded to Newcastle for the Sabbath. 



FKOM HOME. 87 

Newcastle-on-Tyne, June 1. 

"When I left Bishop Aiicldand, the little show- 
ers came down upon the grass, but, in spite of 
weather, I came in at Durham in time to look 
over the cathedral, and to attend the afternoon 
chants. 

Durham — I saw it the next mornino: from the 
height where the depot is — is a most curious place, 
stretched out upon many hills, and the river Wear 
comes down between them. The cathedral stands 
like an old capitol, on the centre hill of the town. 
Its grounds, sloping steeply to the river, are cov- 
ered with green grass and trees. Almost wholly 
built of brick, that have always lived where smok- 
ing was allowed, the town can claim nothing for 
beauty, but the beauty of its situation, or the 
comeliness that a practical man can see in the 
business character of perhaps every English city. 
Yesterday it rained again, and roads were muddy. 
I made the last of my week's courses by rail. 
These second-class cars in England, at least a large 
share of them, are a disgrace to the nation. With- 
out cushions or blinds, scarcely so good, certainly 
no better, than the third class in France, and not 
so good as the third class in Switzerland. Not far 
this side of Durham I noticed a place called Wash- 
ington. 

Monday evening, fourteen miles from Newcastle — 

And the nicest little inn in old Eno^land. But 
shall we not make a few straggling remarks about 



88 THE YANKEE BOY 

IN'ewcastle ? I stopped at Bell's Temperance Ho- 
tel, tolerably well known, I believe, to Americans. 
Mr. Bell knew me to be one, and interested 
himself most politely in showing me the city. AVe 
had at the hotel over the Sabbath two English 
gentlemen, one engaged in the porcelain trade ; 
the other in selling a patent fuse for powder 
blasts. There was also a young man recently hail- 
ing from Yirginia, though born in Scotland, and 
now going home. 

In the morning I glanced down to the river, 
and so on to one end of the city, which looked 
more cleanly than I had expected — a compact 
business place. I also entered an Independent 
church. A young man of rather poor ability 
preached, in place, I was told, of the pastor, tem- 
porarily absent. The hour for evening meeting 
coming on, we found, by mutual, inquiry, that, of 
the two Englishmen at the hotel, one was a Con- 
gregationalist, the other a Methodist. Proposing 
that ^Ye should all attend church together, my 
vote decided which ; we went to the second Con- 
gregational church, where a young man, newly 
settled, claiming the genteel name of Stewart, pre- 
sided. The church was handsome, the congrega- 
tion full and well formed, the organ lowly jDlayed, 
with a full choir, and the sermon, though not 
given in the strongest manner, good and well sus- 
tained. We closed with Pleyel's Hymn. 



FKOM HOME. 89 



X. 



Otterbtjkn, England, June 3, 1862. 

Thirty-five miles from E^ewcastle, and twenty- 
six from Jedbur2:li in Scotland, Tuesday eveninof, 
six o'clock, with a stauncli rain outside and a coal 
fire within — a bunch of narcissus on the table for 
fragrance — I'm finding to-night another inn, alto- 
gether tfdy, in a little place of some dozen or 
twenty houses. 

You have seen that I left iSTewcastle yesterday 
morning, Mr. Bell coming two miles with me to 
point out a coal pit, and then to give me a 
glimpse, as he claimed, of Scotland, from the 
height of land above K'ewcastle. Parting cordially 
with him, I passed for seven miles by a good farm- 
ing country, with an occasional park ground, to a 
villasre called Penteland, and thence six miles to 
the inn at Balsey. Tliis village was a curious lit- 
tle place, the buildings large, all of stone, built by 
a landholder who yet lives in a park near by, at 
the good age of eighty-fom\ A nice little flaxen- 
haired lassie directed me to the inn. I asked her 



90 THE YANKEE BOY 

if it was a good inn. She said she thought it was 
a good inn, bnt she didn't know much aboun it. 

This morning there was a long hard shower. I 
did not start till eleven. Over the hills I have 
come, all over the dreary moors ; it was a long 
trudge, with but a small village and two inns. 
Perhaps for six miles after my start I kept where 
moors used to be, but where now are good hay 
and grazing fields. Then, as we rose, I and my 
sack, higher on the hills, they had a bleak look, 
and for some six miles more were covered with 
furze. All along, the road was indicated for win- 
ter by high posts. Two dismal stone buildings on 
the hillside were all I saw ; but long-woolled sheep, 
with black legs and faces, abounded, and seemed 
to think it was a very nice country. Some three 
miles back — making my day's walk fifteen — the 
road reached the height of ground, though to the 
north, partly covered with clouds, were hills, the 
Cheviot hills, that appeared much higher. I am 
now down quite a bit again in the valley, where 
grain and grass grow ; amidst the cluster of 
houses about us I see a pretty chapel, doubtless 
the parish church. There is no mail from here till 
Saturday's to Newcastle. 

Stowe, June 6, 25 miles from EDiNBrrRGH. 

It rains outside — it rains always, as the French 
say in Bretagne — ^but I have been coming on 
since I wrote last. The truth is, I made a little 



FROM HOME. 91 

leap by the cars from Jedburgli to Melrose, fifteen 
miles. This was yesterday afternoon. Last night 
I looked over the Abbey ruins, and then strolled 
a little in the valley near Melrose — the sweetest 
spot to live in I have seen since leaving home. 
The valleys, and the hills, thns far in Scotland, 
are to me more than fancy had painted them ; 
every village that I meet vies with New England 
in Pm-itan neatness and character. The old villao;e 
of Melrose is neat enough, the new street hand- 
some, with houses of stone, and pretty flower 
yards. I was tempted to introduce myself at one 
of these, and claim a social evening with a cluster 
of friends again. 

My walk to-day has been fourteen miles, the 
last six in a rain that is now steady and increasing. 
Stowe is a small old place that has a railway sta- 
tion, and keeps me at the Kailway Hotel. I 
should not object to some fire — the coldest June 
tlius far I have ever met. 

From Otterburn my first stage was a long 
stretch over moors, and up hills, too, that would 
have been respectable among the Alps ; moun- 
tains as far as one could see, treeless, and used for 
pasture lands, but, for all that, good big moun- 
tains. The weather was roughish, as the moors- 
men call it, that is, sleet and drizzle all day, with 
a wind strong enough to snap a pine. I stopped 
just over the Carter-fell hills on the Scottish bor- 
der. Passing down the Scottish side the next day, 



92 THE YANKEE BOY 

I struck the Jed river, and followed dowii its val- 
ley, one of great beauty, to Jedburgh. The storm 
now without holds on, with no signs of clear 
weather. I got at Melrose a daily Edinburgh pa- 
per, and so have the latest news. I have found-, 
too, a musical book of Scotch songs at 'this hotel, 
very well arranged. This morning I wrote to 
London, for letters to be forv/arded to Edinburgh. 
I shall direct Brown, Shipley & Co. to forward 
those now coming to Glasgow, from which place I 
can order them to meet me at my Sunday's rest. 

Edinbtjbgh, June 8. 

I came on yesterday by cars, on account of 
the storm, which kept up the rain till near noon ; 
after that a tremendous wind, with showers 
thrown iu, some of them very hard. I arrived at 
two in the afternoon, and came to the Waverley 
Temperance Hotel, on Princess' street, the fash- 
ionable business street in the new city, and front- 
ing upon the old town. The charges of the hotel 
won't overgo $1.50 per day for all. 

^Notwithstanding showers, I looked about the 
city yesterday afternoon ; almost everybody else 
was engaged in the same way. The streets 
were filled with well-dressed people, the girls pre- 
dominating in spite of the wind. For that matter, 
these Scotch girls are as like our own as two horse- 
chestnuts, to 

" Tilt their coats aboun the knee, 
And follow their love through the water," 



FPwOM HOME. 93 ' 

1 found lit the post office a home letter of 
May 22cl, just from Liverpool. It speaks of the 

garden, progress of the pa.rks, of 's marriage. 

A very complete letter. Saturday I strolled more 
in the new town ; heard at one place a street 
preacher and singer, a converted Hindoo, assisted 
in his hymn by his two young children — a touch 
of Christian romance in this latter day of foreign 
missions. 

Monday morning^ June 9. — Showery still. 
Yesterday I heard Dr. lianna in the morning, in 
the afternoon Dr. Guthrie. I think Dr. Guthrie 
had a well-prepared sermon, so that I could judge 
well of his powers. It was strongly tinctured 
with republicanism, as well as with the spirit of 
the Covenanters ; thoroughly Scotch, rather the 
spirit which was in !New England than that which 
is. He appealed to the fears, and. denounced 
judgments ; admitted the pleasures of sin, in which 
the wicked flourished for a time ; but O their 
end, their dreadful end ! 

After supper I walked on one of the hills 
which overlook the town, not one of the high 
ones, but close in the city (Calton Hill). It was 
cold and windy, and still somewhat cloudy, so that 
I could not see far, but I received a good impression 
of the city and the beauty of its situation. On 
the high bluffs opposite me, and in the valleys 
below them, there were numbers of people ram- 
bling for a Sunday walk, but fewer doubtless than 



94 THE YANKEE BOY 

in ffood weatlier. Close by me was the monument 
to Dugald Stewart, and the one commenced for 
Waterloo ; below were the jail buildings, and in 
the city I noticed the University buildings, and 
Free Church College, the beautiful monument to 
Walter Scott, and several handsome churches. 
The Frith and harbor were away to the right, with 
but very little shipping to be seen. 

We had a social evening in the sitting room at 
the hotel — an American and his son, a boy, from 
"New York, two young ladies, one or two Scotch- 
men, and several Englishmen. Our New York 
friend had good American stories, was staunch 
for the Union, and appeared w^ell. This morning 
we have further news of Banks' ill-fortune, and 
the further enlistment of men. McClellan looks 
sure. 

J'une 11. — ^With a cold storm hanging over 
us, I cannot promise when I may go. I have 
my shopping to do for the trip, to close up what 
was omitted at Paris. I have got an excellent map 
of Scotland ; a travelling map I prefer to a guide. 
It is well got up on cloth, and bound, has the 
heights of mountains, the roads, streams, villages, 
inns, rivers, abbeys, churches, and is sold for 
$1.75. The guide for Scotland is but thirty-seven 
and a half cents more. I have laid in a stock of 
medicine, a flask of brandy, an extra pair of draw- 
ers — everybody is wearing overcoats to-day — a 
pair of light shoes, and am looking at a w^ater- 



FEOM HOME. 95 

proof overcoat, almost indispensable wliere there 
is so mncli rain and wind. To-morrow I tliink I 
shall be fully prepared for the north. We have 
to-day news from home to May 30. 

June 13. — I have bonght my rubber coat and 
shoes, and, notwithstanding the rain, which still 
continues, mean to start in the morning. Beside 
the shopping, I have looked at the library and mu- 
seum of the College, and, what I found more inter- 
esting, attended one of the lectures on natural his- 
tory, which commenced while I was there. The 
room was not large, but was well filled ; the lec- 
ture I thought very good ; the students gave it 
occasionally a cheer, the first at the mention of 
Professor Wilson's name. 

I'm interrupted by the conversation about me ; 
half a score of male competitors against a pair of 
young ladies from Newcastle. The style of the 
brighter one is familiar. 

" Oh, I'm shocked if you talk so ; that's 



swearing:." 



" But the London people say so." 

" And the London people say we at Newcastle 



are 'osrs." 



Twice this week I have had opportunity to try 
the French. We have had here a French party 
of four, two of them girls, and none of them 
speaking English with ease. I admit the frank- 
ness of their manners came like a gleam of sun- 
shine, as strongly as I have seen sometimes a 



96 THE YANKEE BOY 

want of national honesty. Again, in buying the 
shoes, I noticed the clerk's accent, and turned ab- 
ruptly my English into French. I could appre- 
ciate the pleasure with which he hailed the native 
tongue, and had to stretch all my faculties to 
catch the flood of French that followed. 



FltOM HOME. 97 



XI. 



Abbey Ceaig, Scotland, June 12, 1S62. 

I AM two miles from Sterling. Yesterday 
morning, coming down rather late, I found the 
gay E^^orth Shields damsel reigning in the sitting 
room, but only said " Good morning ; " turned 
away by a couj)le of men at their breakfast, whom 
I thought, and soon knew to be Americans. They 
were from ^ew York State, they said, but the 
oldest was born in St. Johnsbury, Yermont, grad- 
uated at Dartmouth, in the class, I think, with 

President L , of Middlebury College. He 

had lived South some twenty years, engaged 
in seminaries there, and is now President of a 
newly founded female college at Poughkeepsie. 
He handed me a pamphlet as his card, and asked 
for mine ; said he knew the name well, and had 

known formerly our family at N . Breakftist 

over, I called at the post office, and found a letter 
of May 29, just in time for the letter of the week. 

I made my start at one, with, as usual in this 
climate, a rainy afternoon ; my rubber overcoat 
5 



08 THE YANKEE BOY 

came directly into use. Nine miles of brisk walk- 
ing brouglit me to the Queen's Ferry over the 
Frith. Sixpence set me across it ; ninepence more 
gave me a lunch at a little inn by the water, and 
then, through a lonesome rente near the Frith, I 
made eleven miles farther, to a small place, hav- 
ing a tolerable inn, called the Tied Lion. For a 
]3lain supper and breakfast there was seventy-five 
cents to pay. I had again a rainy day, but my 
road for the latter half of it was a pleasant one. 
At Alloa, nine miles, I took a bread-and-milk din- 
ner. From Alloa to Sterling is ten miles more ; 
but seeing this little inn, close in sight of Sterling, 
I looked in, saw everything unusually nice, and 
stopped for the Sabbath. It looks as nice as in a 
respectable family at home. I get the best rooms, 
and shall be much more comfortable than in the 
most expensive hotel at Sterling. I leave my 
sack here in attending church to-morrow, and 
have it in my way for my journey on Monday. 

It seems a lovely valley here. I was just look- 
ing out at our first clear sunset since leaving New- 
castle. The "Wallace Monument, that is being 
built, is right above the inn, with a mountain 
range beyond it. Ben Lomond is in sight to the 
west. Sterling Castle and Sterling are on the hill 
to the south. A small, brown-haired girl, dressed 
in black, with white stockings, has been standing 
for more than an hour by one of the yard gates in 
that direction ; God bless her. 



FEOM HOME. 90 

Sunday evening. — Since supper — it is now after 
eight — I have been reading an American Messenger 
of August, 1861. I found it, ^Yitll a number of 
Child's Pajpers^ at a religious book store at Edin- 
burgh. I attended the Free Church this morning at 
Sterling, and after the service looked over the ceme- 
tery and castle grounds, in a fine clear air, though 
with clouds about. Returned to the inn, I had 
dinner, and then went up on the Craig, to where 
the Wallace Monument is begun. From here the 
view was more j)erfect than from the castle. 
After returning, I walked on a mile and a half to 
the Bridge of Allan, a quite handsome watering 
place and mineral springs. The wells were closed, 
so that I could get no water, and the churches were 
closed for the day. 

Once more at the Abbey Craig, I have done 
good service to my meal, and will now close my 

writing. I have to tell my friend S that I gave 

one of his namesakes twopence halfpenny last 

night, and put it down to him. Daniel S he 

said his name was, and told me that he knew as 
soon as he saw me that I was a gentleman. 

New Teossachs Hotel, June 17. 

Leaving Bridge of Allan, I went to see Jessie 
of Dunblane. It was a beautiful day to see Jessie 
in ; could I have met her I would have been 
to her a new lover. Alas ! poor Jessie's blushes 
glow no more. They may have faded in girlhood, 



100 THE YANKEE BOY 

or in womanhood, bnt, close by Allan Water, tlie 
FloAver of Dunblane lies garnered noAv in the old 
kirk yard. From on tlie hill, against the cathedral 
ruins, I looked down at the village, or city, as an 
honest Scotchman claimed it to be, a quiet place 
sleeping in the hollow. The cathedral dates back 
to David II, in the twelfth century. 

Leaving Dunblane, I left Allan Water too, and, 
going now more to the west, passed through 
Donne, and on to Callander, at the foot of Ben 
Ledi. 

'' Lodgings," said a little board on the door of 
a neat two-story house. 

" You have lodgings, ma'am ? " 

"Yes." 

" And for a single night ? " 

" Yes, if you wish." 

It was a neat room up stairs ; a plain tea 
followed in the sitting room, where were various 
pictures on the wall, and the Christian Penny 
Magazine for literature. After tea, at the large 
hotel at the village, I inquired as to the ascent of 
Ben Ledi. They told me the walk was six miles. 
The landlord was a civil Irishman from Limerick ; 
learning I was an American, he was still in ore 
cordial, showed me his hotel and garden ; wished 
the l^orth and South again to unite and be a 
match for the world. He told me, too, of a hand- 
some falls a mile and a half from the villaire : 
at nine o'clock, the twilight of the fairest day of 



FKOM HOME. 101 

the seasoD, I struck off by a wild road, and over 
the heather fiekls, to see them. Even more than 
the day before I wished sweet Jessie with me to 
trail those ferns, sighing, perhaps, more sweetly 
than the wind, and hmghing with the reckless 
waterfalL There was, too, a rnde stair over a 
stone wall, where she would have needed help, 
and a big rock to be got down, and a small bridge 
with only half a railing to be crossed. I looked 
back from below the rock, but Jessie did not 
jump. I turned at the bridge, hut didn't jBnd her 
hand. There was only the river throwing itself 
against the cruel stones, and a dim wild vision 
floated before me of a drowning girl. 

Loch Lomond, Wednesday night. 

Callander I left yesterday morning. Amidst 
a most energetic rain I came as far as the New 
Trossachs Hotel — you see I go faster than I WTite, 
that's partly because I've been thinking too much 
of Jessie — the last two thirds of the way with a 
young party of three, two girls and their brother. 
They were from Sunderland. They had started 
to ascend Ben Ledi, but were caught by the rain. 
The elder girl was quite pretty. 

Stopped at the hotel — a large line one — I met a 
young English chap from Manchester, that had been 
to Meh'ose'in company with my friend from Pougli- 
keepsie. We joined together, and after dinner 
made a walk through Glen Finlass. At the end of 



102 THE YANKEE BOY 

the vale, at tlie foot of Ben Lecli, were a number of 
sheplierd houses and some tolerable land. I asked a 
braw Scotchman where his folks went to the kirk. 
He pointed to a high mountain slope, and said they 
went over that to the church near the Old Tros- 
sachs Hotel. To finish our stroll, and see what 
for a Sunday jog they had, we proposed to return 
by the hill route. It proved a good specimen of 
a Pyrenean Col, a rough climb of at least 1,200 
feet. Then came the slope down to the inn and 
kirk, and after, two miles back to the hotel. 

To-day I have done a good bit of walking, 
skirting the whole length of Loch Katrine, doub- 
ling its western end, and by the road, coming five 
miles more on here to the northern end of Loch 
. Lomond. I hardly know that I have any com- 
ments to add, only, these Highland hotels are 
monstrously expensive. They stand alone, with 
no villages, so there is no help but to get out of 
.the way of them as soon as possible. I should 
have stopped five miles back, but they asked 87|- 
cents for a bed and service, and though there 
wasn't a soul there, they refused less. Well, I left 
them to their tranquillity, adding a pleasant addi- 
tion to the day's tour. At Callander, where the 
pine board offered me lodgings, I paid but 62| 
cents for tea, bed, and breakfast. 

I see two Americans from JSTew York were 
here yesterday, and some from Boston last week. 
No one to-night but myself, and, I protest, with 



FEOM HOME. 103 

the sure prospect of a big bill, I make tliis house 
move. 

The daily paper tells me the Mississippi is 
in our power, Fremont apparently worsted by 
Jackson, and McClellan not over-fortunate in 
the last fight. They wait this side impatiently 
for a great battle. There can hardly be any in- 
terference till it comes oil. If oar men at Wash- 
ington were fully watchful against all contingen- 
cies, they might have a fleet of iron ships ready, 
enough to defy any interference whatever. By 
to-day's despatches we learn that fifteen new gun- 
boats are ordered. I hope that this is the idea. 
Hurrah for the Mexicans ! 

Ellen's Isle I did not go on to-day, but saw it 
finely. The first two thirds of the lake walk was 
charming, the last of it rough. At one point I 
halted for a luncheon which I had brought ; at 
another, to look through the spyglass at a return- 
ing steamboat. Had I not intended to stop at the 
inn back, I should have steered over the Braes of 
Balquhidder, by my compass, to the extreme n.orth 
end of Loch Lomond. There was no path, but I 
should easily have made the cut, as there are no 
trees. This is the great fault I find with this 
Highland scenery, and v/hy it never can equal 
kindred landscapes in America. There's a mag- 
nificence in our original forests that nothing I 
have seen in Europe can supply. The snow or 
greatness of the Alps v;on't do it, nor the beauty 



104 THE YANKEE BOY 

of the Pyrenees, nor now again the heather-cov- 
ered and fern-waving hills of Scotland. Would 
that the day might never come when our moun- 
tains shall lose their greenness, or America her 
woods and forests ! 

Near the Beaes of Balqtthiddeb, June 19. 
" Will ye go, lassie, go, to the braes o' Balquhidder, 
Where the blaeberries grow, 'mang the bonuie bloomin' heather ; 
Where the deer and the rae, lightly bounding together. 
Sport the lang summer day 'mang the braes o' Balquhidder ? " 

I left the Loch Lomond Hotel, where I staved 
for the night, by the first boat north, at eleven 
o'clock. It was another morning " good for 
ducks," but this afternoon has been mostly pleas- 
ant. A ninepence took me to the head of the 
lake. The mist was low so that we saw little ; 
passengers few and dismal. Leaving the boat, 
there were fourteen miles more around the big 
Ben More, that stands watching the Braes of Bal- 
quhidder. It is 3,817 feet high, or over 600 feet 
higher than Ben Lomond. Its crest was partly 
covered with fog, as I came round it, but quite a 
bank of snow stretched some way down, and two 
glacier streams came from it to a tarn at the foot. 
The inn I am at, like all the Highland inns, stands 
alone, solidly built of stone. I have passed no 
village — except the hotels, hardly a sizable house, 
since leaving Callander. 

June 20. — Friday night, going to nine o'clock, 
and at a small but most tidy inn on the south- 



FEOM HOME. 105 

ern shore of Locli Tay. Eight opposite me is Ben 
Lawers, 3,984 feet above the sea — a giant moun- 
tain, an enormous sheep-pastm'e. To-day I have 
come about fifteen miles, stopping to lunch at Kil- 
len, on the southern end of Loch Tay. Ten miles 
lie before me to Kilmore, at the northern end. I 
find this a very handsome lake. I^othing since 
I left the margin of fair Zurich's waters has 
pleased me so much. It is quite difierent from 
that lake, yet it throws over you the same feeling 
of quietude, l^one of the rocks appear, that give 
the grandeur sought for so much, but, though 
their slopes are high, there is covering enough of 
earth to make the banks look fertile ; even Ben 
Lawers, as I said, looking a big sheep-pasture. 

As regards temperature, I learn that the ther- 
mometer here rarely exceeds seventy-five degrees ; 
snow keeps upon the northern side of these 
higher mountains to the middle of August. The 
landlord, where I stayed last night, had known it 
to lie through the season on Ben More. And he 
said on Ben ITevis, which is not far ofl:' (height 
4,400 feet), there has always been snow, though 
one year they were obliged to protect it from the 
sun, else their mountain would have lost its long- 
worn crown. As to weather, to-night would indi- 
cate Canadian furs. Since sittino; down to write, 
I have been in the kitchen to warm me by the 
fire. A single peony tries to blow in the garden. 

There is something of a village about this inn, 
5* 



106 THE YANKEE BOY 

less of pretension than at Glen Finlass, tlie last I 
saw, where the dwellings or liiits of rongli stones 
were whitewashed. Here they are laid withont 
selection, like a pasture fence, and covered with 
thatch. They could hardly be homelier, or small- 
er, but yet are not repulsive. The Highlanders 
themselves, as I see them, are sturdy, not large 
men, thick and strong — the Rob Hoy rather than 
the Fergus Mclvor figure. The women every- 
where, as I saw them in England, work in the 
fields ; all the young lassies go with bare legs. 
A very pretty lass I saw this morning at Killen, 
wdio w^ould have been ready in dress for the hallet 
in Paris. 

Passing by to-day one of those low hut-built 
houses, I heard some kind of machinery going 
within. I peeped at the window, but could see 
little, and so peeped in at the door. It was a 
hand-weaving establishment, with four different 
looms in the room, though but one of them was at 
work. The other weavers had gone a-fishing. I 
watched the machine in operation, till I got a very 
good idea of its working. The old man at work 
said he could make from two shillings to half- 
a-crown a day, getting fourpence a yard. He 
was at work on a coarse, sack-looking cloth, that 
sold, he said, now, for half-a-crown a yard ; but 
in the other webs was very good pantaloon cloth, 
worth much more, and an honest article it all seem- 
ed to be. 



FKOM HOME. lOT 

Kbnmork, June 21, Saturday night. 

I am ten miles from my last night's place- 
not a great distance^ bnt a very quiet, pleasant vil- 
lage, and tlie only one in my route for the Sun- 
day, — I mean the only one within reach to-night, 
— so I pass the Sabbath here, with the choice of 
either Free or Established Church. As to this 
far-famed division, with an article I saw in a secu- 
lar paper at Edinburgh, I am inclined to think 
the rupture was a happy event. Perhaps I judge 
too soon. The Kirk is even now a very strong 
power, and was not likely to cherish the meekness 
and charity that we love to connect with a true 
Christianity. I think I see an aptitude for domi- 
nation still in the pews. Religion is very respect- 
able indeed in Scotland. May it always be, but 
not to substitute the form for the life. 

June 23. — Monday night, fifteen miles from 
Kenmore, eight to Dunkeld. I have made a con- 
venient stop, just in time to dodge a little rain. 
We had a perfectly clear morning, and a charm- 
ing day. The barometer talked of its being 
" very dry," but is drifting about now to " very 
stormy." The people agree we have an uncom- 
monly wet June ; the wheat turns yellow ; farm- 
ers fear for their crops, with so much rain and 
no sun. 

I found it the Communion day, yesterday, at 
both the churches. The custom is to have a ser- 
mon, and then the Communion, taking several 



108 THE YANKEE BOY 

hours ill their manner of dispensing it, the service 
commencing at twelve, and ending after six. 
There were over four hundred attending at the 
Free Church yesterday, coming in from the coun- 
try about for miles, nearly all of whom appeared 
to be communicants. This shows religion to have 
taken a firm hold of the humble classes, which is 
not felt to be the case in England. 

Returned from church yesterday, I met a well- 
informed Englishman, stopping at our hotel. 
Thoroughly English in all his notions, his sympa- 
thies were with the South as respects our war ; 
he yet thought the Southern chance a poor one, 
and the energy of the Federal Government unpar- 
alleled. A Scotch resident joined himself to us, 
as we were outside of the hotel, and turned our 
talk to local topics. The Marquis of Breadalbane, 
who lives here, in one of the finest castle palaces I 
have seen, owns all the country about, so that 
from before I reached Loch Tay to six miles from 
its northern eud, I was upon his grounds. This 
would be some thirty-six miles ; but to the w^est, 
in a direct line, his lands run ninety miles. Yery 
much of this land is mountain and rock. On one 
stretch of forty miles, that they call the Black 
Forest, is a deer pasture, feeding some six thou- 
sand deer. This forest is simply heather-covered 
moorland ; but aside from the mountains and 
deer runs, all the estate is rented, including farms 
and villages, and yields about a hundred thousand 



FKOM HOME. 109 

pounds. There are landed estates even larger in 
tiie kingdom, and many more productive. 

This morning I went on the hill that looks 
down upon the village and park grounds. There 
were deer about, plentiful as sheep in the pastures, 
and in the wood I saw several. There were, too, 
the church and little homes about it, and the 
arched bridge over the river, that flows from the 
lake, for one cluster ; and for another, yet more 
unique, a small, round island with a bouquet of 
trees. My enthusiasm was heightened for Loch 
Tay. I find it partly sustained for the valley of 
the Tay River, I am following now toward Dun- 
keld. I ought perhaps to add that, since reaching 
Loch Tay, park woods have been abundantly in- 
terspersed ; hardly ever have I passed by a road 
so handsomely lined with trees, or seen a river 
bank fringed more prettily than this. 

It is eleven o'clock now. The rain drips on 
the window, and mingles with the Gaelic talk that 
comes from the kitchen. All the peasants through 
here speak the Gaelic more easily than the Eng- 
lish. 



110 THE YANKEE BOY 



XIL 

June 27, 1862.—" Came you by Atliol ? " I have 
been to Dnnkeld, and now am passed tbrongli tbe 
Pass of Killiecrankie, by Blair Athol, and eleven 
miles farther to this inn, that stands pretty much 
alone upon the moors. I have left for aye Loch Tay 
and Tay River, with their many woods fast grow- 
ing to forests. Down the river I went to Dnn- 
keld, then up on the other side nearly to the 
Logierait Inn again, where we turn oiF — the road 
and railroad as well as myself — westerly and 
northwesterly, to come by Athol. 

I have little to say about Dunkeld, but gave a 
day to the visit, and feed a guide to put me 
through the Duke's grounds, and show me into 
the so-called Ossian's Hermitage. There is one 
souvenir of the valley I found after the guide left 
me, I would if I could give to you. An old stone 
bridge spans a deep chasm into which a little 
river plunges. It was doubtless as a tired way- 
farer that I liked so well to lie on the stone para- 



FROM HOME. Ill 

pet and watch the mad little stream, dashing at 
the bowlders, coming down for its dive. I was 
very willing to rest, quite unwilling to get rested 
in such a place, and would assure my friend Mrs. 

C that she need not despair of me on scenery. 

Yesterday, passing the coach at a large hotel 
at Blair Athol, I had a bit of cliat with the pas- 
sengers, and a few words with the landlord after- 
ward, who politely offered me the daily paper, 
just come. So I have seen the latest news — 
Beauregard nowhere, Jackson everywhere. My 
breakfast is now "getting ready at a very good old- 
fashioned stage inn, quite jaiintie up stairs, at 
two-and-sixpence for bed and attendance. The 
landlord tells me that the whole stage route from 
Dunkeld to Inverness is one hundred miles ; the 
stage carries sixteen passengers, and makes the 
distance, including stops, within ten miles an 
hour. 

Interness, Jane 28. 

Saturday nighty and I left my girl this morn- 
ing. I'd no business to do it, and deserved the 
disappointment of not finding letters here at In- 
verness. 'Twas for the letters I left her, other- 
wise I should have passed the Sunday with her ; 
but I left her standing on the door to wave me a 
good-by, and now I've no letters and no girl. 

Yesterday morning I walked on thirteen miles 
to a large posting inn, where I had a bread-and- 
milk dinner ; as I finished the stage came up. I 



112 THE YANKEE BOY 

thoiiglit it over : Friday, and sixty miles from In- 
verness, wliere I liad expected to pass the Sab- 
bath ! I liked, too, the idea of trying the big 
coach, and it gained on me. I mounted the top, 
and came on forty miles more or less. It rained 
hard in showers ; in spite of the rubber coat, 
the additional umbrellas were too mnch for me. 
Dripping, then, and chilly, after ten at night, I 
got down from the coach at the large farmhouse 
inn I was booked for. I poked through the 
hall, following a bit of light to a keyhole at the 
farther end, and opened the door abruptly. The 
fire w^as glowing, vieing, in its color, with the red 
stockings of one of the two Scotch lassies that 
stood before it. 

" Can you give me a good bed ? " 

They both spoke together in answer : '' Oh 
yes, Sir, we can." 

June 30. — Last night there came on, forwarded 
from London, our village newspaper of June 11 — 
its arrival the more welcome that I got no letters. 
It seemed itself, when fairly uncovered, not a little 
proud to meet a friend at Inverness. 

Perhaps forgetting ^the Highland lassie, that I 
left so prematurely, 

" O qui me rendra mon Hel^ne ? " 

I ought to give a touch of how the land looks be- 
tween here and the Pass of Killiecrankie. At 
first, for twenty miles, all was large mountains 



FEOM HOME. 113 

standing every where, covered with the native 
heather — not a tree, not a bush, thongh rocks 
enough. The truth is, I begin to catch the spirit 
of the heather, and to enjoy the wind whisthng 
over these bleak hills, and to fancy the stones 
rested upon them. As on the moors of Northum- 
berland, long, coarse-wooUed sheep are grazing all 
about ; a few rough cottages appear of those who 
w^atch them. 

When we come down into the valley of the 
Spey, the country changes. Several old villages, 
single long streets of stone cottages, mostly of one 
story, are passed, and in the valley are large, 
good-looking meadows, and on the hills larches 
and Scotch pines again tell of some laird that's 
living near. Leaving the Spey we get once more 
rugged hills, and look clear back over the Spey 
valley to those we have left, whitened yet on this 
side in many spots with snow. All those that we 
see, and have been through, are the Grampians. 

Inverness I find looking comely enough, with 
a fine view from its castle hill, and good walks, 
very beautiful ones along its river banks. Three 
different churches I attended yesterday, all of 
them well filled ; the sermons were quite good, v/itli 
a good bit of Scotch accent and manner mixed in 
Avith them. To-day thus far I have been Avi'iting, 
and shall not leave here till to-morrow, when I 
see we have it July 1st, and I shall make here my 
Ultima Thule. 



114 THE YANKEE BOY 

Head of Glen of Glencoe, July 4. 

Inverness is eiglity miles to the north of me. 
Since I wrote last onr travelling party has re- 
sumed the road, my sack, umbrella, myself, and 
spyglass. Tlie sack does all it promised to. Tlie 
umbrella has had active service daily, and even 
the spyglass, which has been snlky since leaving 

its Helen at the Inn, near Inverness, saw 

yesterday another lass, going alone through a 
large field toward an especially pleasant-looking 
farmhouse, that, by some trees under a hill, lay 
half a mile perhaps from the road, and proposed 
to stop and look at her. I thought, when it found 
she was pretty, it grew better natured ; I hope it will 
soon get over its pique about leaving the other. 

Shall I speak of Loch Ness or of Independ- 
ence ? You may be called to hear some patriot 
politician on the latter subject, and so will excuse 
me. Loch I^ess is the northernmost of the inland 
waters connecting with the Caledonia Canal; a 

fine lake, if not the finest. As old Mr. B 

said of the Green Mountain range, as seen from 
his house near Mount Independence, " It looks 
handsome enousjh." I saw it first Mondav ni2:ht 

O I/O 

at Dores, where are a kirk and several houses about 
it, forming the kirk-town, distant eight miles 
from Inverness, at the lake's northern end. 

The piiblio hoose, \ik.Q almost all of its kind, is 
a low-lived grogshop, as uninviting as one of our 
poorest beer-drinking groceries. However, it was 



FROM HOME. 115 

ten miles to tlie Foyer's Inn. The toast and tea 
proved of good flavor, and after a bit of conversa- 
tion with mine host, and more with a cnstomer of 
]iis, I fonnd mj bed and sleep as desired. The 
guest mentioned had been a traveller, had led a 
chequered life, and was now, near the close of it, 
broken down by drink. A Scotchman by birth, a 
graduate of Edinburgh, he had gone to the l^ew 
World, stayed eighteen years in the States, return- 
ed, and after several years' interval had launched 
off again, this time to Australia, where I think he 
said he was nine years. How long since from 
Australia I did not learn, but at present he was 
returning on foot to his home in the north, from 
the Exhibition at London. As I said, complete- 
ly wrecked by drink ; perhaps never very well 
balanced, he brightened up when talking of his 
travels, and still gave interest to his stories. He 
had once j^assed by Monticello, and called upon 
Jefferson. His knock was not heard, but he 
passed through the hall into a sitting room, where 
was a young lady playing a piano ; she was too 
much engaged to hear him, and he was compelled 
to interrupt her and tell her his errand. It might 
have been Jefferson's daughter — he didn't know 
as to that ; she did not return again, but Mr. Jef- 
ferson came in. He was always glad to have seen 
the old gentleman ; he was very polite. At Edin- 
burgh I had met an Englishman, a kind-hearted, 
talkative man, who had lived many years in Mich- 



116 THE YANKEE BOY 

igan, tlie best perhaps of his life. His thoughts 
were filled with frontier scenes ; with him Harri- 
son and Cass were familiar names. But he had 
still a home that cared for him. 

Still July 4. — I find myself at another fublio 
hoose^ and am sitting in the parlor, dining room, 
and bed room of the concern. The landlord, an 
honest-looking fellow, says they are to bnild him 
a better-looking place next year. Tlie books, as 
in nearly all Scotch inns, are mostly religions — in 
this case but few — the Bible, Lives of Scotch Di- 
vines, a volume of a Missionary Magazine, a 
Gaelic Poem, two Bibles in the same language, 
and, in English, a Life of Washington, a present, I 
presume, from an emigrant relative. That's all 
right ; only if the beds — there are two of them — 
don't grow longer before bedtime, I shall stretch 
out on the settee. Whilst I am writing, the wo- 
men folk are doing the proud thing in the kitchen. 
I hear them scrape the toast whilst the kettle 
boils. — An hour later. The Avomen folk have 
done the proud thing. If I've said anything re- 
flecting against this inn or pnblic hoose, I take it 
all back. That bed has grown several inches. 
This parlor has an elegant picture on one side, a 
young girl (the dress low neck and short sleeves), 
a diadem on her brow, and a rosebud in her 
bosom. Opposite is a splendidly framed design, 
" Kitchie's Edinburgh Ales." 

" You're nicely fitted up, I see ; is that carpet 



FEOM HOME. 117 

Brussels ? " said an English gentleman, in point- 
ing to a newly made rag carpet at an old inn, 
where I stopped yesterday. When told not, he 
maintained well the delusion. " It looks astonish- 
ingly like Brussels." 

The Falls of Foyers are the Falls of Scotland. 
I found them 'ten miles from Dores. I passed a 
large inn a mile before reaching them, but having, 
from a milestone near, the promise of the White 
Bridge Inn, seven miles beyond, I ran my chance 
and went on for the picturesque. To say the falls 
were all moonshine wouldn't be true, for they 
were all water ; but to climb about auy glen so 
wild and handsome as this, alone, is all moon- 
shine ; and after vainly striving some time 
to think a birch tree was the Jessie that came 
with me, I gave it up, flung several stones at the 
'noisy fall, that flung its spray at me, flung several 
more over the arches below and across the deep 
gorge, and left. But my thoughts went back a 
few years to a fall at home, far more wild and 
beautiful than these, where 

July 5, Saturday^ at een. — I wrote two weeks 
since, when I stopped to spend the Sabbath on 
the shores of Loch Tay, that the estate of the Mar- 
quis of Breadalbane extended in a straight line, in 
one direction, ninety miles. I am told I have 
struck that line in this quarter, and am squatted 
again on that nobleman's territory. I spoke of his 
castle palace and fine grounds in that location. 



118 THE YANKEE BOY 

Here we liave a nobleman's seat again repeated, 
perhaps for the reason of the Hoosier, in separat- 
ing his house from his barn, " On account of the 
sloo between them, stranger ! " — but that is his 
business. I have only to thank him for this most 
comfortable hotel. They'll remember it in the 
bill, I suspect, but I'm used to it. Besides, 
that comes Monday. To-night let me doze by the 
warm fire I have ordered, and enjoy the luxury 
of a clean room. 

I've walked twenty miles to-day, all through 
Glencoe, a lone, barren glen that everybody goes 
to see. But to get back to the Falls of Foyers, or 
to the road that lies between them and the White 
Bridge Inn : In the first place it veered off from 
the lake to cross over a hill, and gave me a steep 
climb for half an hour. Coming to the table 
lands, for the first time I noticed blueberry ^ 
bushes. The "White Bridge crosses the Foyers, 
and just above, on the hill, a low, long, dirty- 
looking building extended, which only could, be 
an inn. Indeed, when near enough to read it, an 
inscription, over the door warrants the fact. It 
was nearly seven o'clock ; my first inquiry was 
fully answered. A lady from Glasgow had writ- 
ten to engage the only two beds. But. for some- 
thing to eat. 

" There is very little in the hoose." 

" So I suppose ; you have milk, though ? " 

" Yes." 



FKOM HOME. 119 

" And bread ? " ' 

" ]^o ; no bread, but oat cake." 

" Yery well, milk and oat cake." The oat 
cake was unnecessarily hard, but the milk was 
sweet and good. It was now nine miles to Fort 
AnOTstns. 

o 

Highlands of Scotland, July S, thirteen miles east of Oban. 

Though I ought to commence at Fort Augustus, 
I think I shall give a word to a pleasant cow that 
I see in looking from the window. She grazes in a 
field on some green grass, but beyond her there 
appear to be potatoes, a hollow, and a mountain. 
I have been watching, too, across the road, three 
little girls amusing themselves with a wheelbar- 
row in wheeling each other alternately. They 
are some dozen or fonrteen years old ; two of 
them, peasant children, have the natural panta- 
lette ; the third, coming from the inn, doubtless, 
has the Highland red stockings, that reach nearly 
to the knee, and there leave the leg exposed a wee 
by the short petticoat. 

Fort Augustus stands at the sonthern end of 
Loch ItTess. Besides the fort there were quite a 
number of moderate houses, and two small inns. 
At one of these I passed the night ; in the morning 
restarted toward Fort William, about thirty-eight 
miles farther down. For five miles I kept by the 
canal — two steamboats passing by me, one each 
way. Leaving the canal I skirted through woods 



120 THE YAKKEE BOY 

some way with a country about me tliat made 
me tliink of tlie neigliborhood of Ticonderoga, 
J^ew York. This home look was heightened by a 
sawmill. I hardly remember to have seen one in 
operation before, since leaving home. I stopped 
to admire the logs, to hear the going of the saw, 
and to watch the pile of scantling, small though it 
was. Leaving the sawmill I met a native, and 
learned that I should have to turn half a mile 
from my course for an inn, or else go on sixteen 
miles farther, in all twenty-four miles from Fort 
Augustus, with nothing to eat. There had been 
formerly another inn, but it had been turned into 
a shepherd house. Well, I turned off the half 
mile, coming to an excellent large stone hotel that 
stood in a fine position among these mountains. 
Hardly anywhere had the Scotch firs showed more 
handsomely, and I could hear the river thumping 
the bowlders in the gorge below. Returned from 
the inn, I crossed this stream by a stone arch, then 
wound around what seemed park grounds, turned 
through another fine wood, and came out by a 
small dismal loch, one of the connecting links in 
this chain of lakes. Its bank opposite me was a 
high mountain, steep, but with grass grown to the 
top, hence used as a sheep pasture. Beyond this 
lake there was a bit of a village, with a Catholic 
church, so one of the peasants told me. Then 
came the shepherd house that had been an inn. 
It was a forlorn-looking old place, but some land 



FP.OM noiiE. 121 

near it seemed good for potatoes or grain, and the 
shepherd, with his lad and lass, was hard at work 
hoeing some small potatoes. 

From the shepherd house to Stean Bridge Inn 
was yet eight miles. I had gone abont one, and 
began to feel a bit fagging, when an honest-look- 
ing lad with a horse and cart overtook me. He 
slackened and seemed ready for an arrangement, 
but before I had settled in my mind on terms, he 
asked me, and I think out of good feeling, if I 
wouldn't '' get in." I got in, and slipj)ed a six- 
pence in his hand, that he covered so thoroughly 
I don't think his father will ever see it. The lad 
was a bright lad, and had, he said, five sisters and 
four brothers. His father watched the sheep on 
this mountain, and his uncle on the hill beyond. 
The sheep^ran out all winter picking up their own 
living. At something less than two miles he was to 
turn from the main road ; then, as if thinking that 
the length of ride wasn't equal to the sixpence, he 
said that he was coming back to go several miles 
farther. This seemed pretty doubtful ; but I was 
satisfied with the ride already taken, told him 
'twas all right, and struck on again afoot. One 
beautiful little dell I passed, lined with trees, and 
a clear stream below going to the lake. Just be- 
yond this was a very pretty cottage under a hill, 
and a fine yard of trees before it. Had I been in 
America, I should have claimed its hospitality for 
the night. Another mile on I met a well-appear- 
6 



122 THE YANKEE BOY 

ing Higliland gentleman just coming out of an- 
other cottage, witli perhaps his wife. I stopped to 
ask a word about the way. He had the true 
Celtic manner of politeness in his answer, and 
then, with the Celtic hospitality that I have met 
with now several times, insisted that I should 
come in and take a glass of wine, for he knew I 
must have had a long walk. The parlor was very 
cozy, and wdth the wine, which was most excel- 
lent, and some cake, I passed half an hour. Of 
course I let them know directly I was an Ameri- 
can, and as such was full as kindly welcomed, 
though it was admitted that in our war their na- 
tion's sympathy tended toward the weaker side. 

From the Highland cottage, with new zeal, I 
soon walked the remaining three miles. I should 
add that the lad I rode with passed by whilst I 
was in the house. Shortly after setting out I met 
him returning on horseback. The little fellow 
was as pleased as could be to meet me, in fact 
laughed all over, and I thought 'twas in part to 
show me he had told the truth. 

Stean Bridge Inn isn't a bad place for a night. 
They showed me to their best room up stairs, and 
gave nae there my supper. Close by it was a 
very neat little bedroom. For rugs I noticed 
here, as in many of tliese Highland hotels, deer 
skins ; very becoming they look, spread out by a 
window in the parlors or by the doors. Fort 
William from Stean Bridge is about ' 



FROM HOME. 123 

we skirt around the foot of Ben Xevis. The 
height of Ben Nevis is 4,406 feet. Formerly it 
was thouo^ht the his-hest mountain in Great Britain. 
I^ow that claim is awarded to Ben McDlmi, that 
shows so finely, with a range of snow-pointed 
peaks about it, from where Helen lives. Between 
these two rival mountains there is but several feet 
difierence ; at each survey the palm of height is 
changed, so that in fact no one knows which is 
highest. Snow is yet plentifully lying on Ben 
Nevis and the mountains near it. 

Fort William is an old place in aj^pearance, 
and an ugly one. I stayed but long enough to 
take lunch, then passed on toward the next inn, 
with drizzly rain to test the rubber coat. 



124 THE YANKEE BOY 



XIII. 

Oban, July 9, Wednesday evening. 

Place me now in the coffee room of a large 
and well-conducted, but so-called second-class 
Engiisli hotel ; five more young men in the room, 
lounging indiscriminately, for there are no ladies. 
If there were, they would be placed up stairs in 
the parlor, by a rule of civilization. A large 
wagon-load of girls, cm co?itraire, jnst passed the 
window — the genuine article, ranging in years 
from two to twenty. 

I have seen them before. They were all at a 
picnic, at an old castle ruin, half a mile across a 
bay from the road I was passing. I had arranged 
my spyglass to see the old castle, and distin- 
guished a single female in a black riding-habit 
and a pretty plumed hat. This beat the tail of 
the comet seen by the philosopher in the comic 
almanac, or, for that matter, the man in the moon. 
She stood in the perspective, and, so far as I was 
concerned, completely covered the castle. She 



FEOM HOME. 125 

didn't seem to care for tlie castle or for its enyi- 
rons — neither did I ; but she Avalked about the 
lawn, and finally seated herself on the decline of 
the grass. I mjsclF was lying on a bank of hea- 
ther, some thirty feet above the road, my glass 
resting upon its summit. After a solitary walk 
this term of picket duty seemed no hardship. 
Perhaps fifteen minutes passed, when the damsel 
rose, gathered quickly her long robe, and com- 
menced a rapid run down the green. My glass 
moved with its object, and soon caught the forms 
of two bright little girls coming to meet her. 
Directly came a troop of them from a wood ; after 
them the large wagon that has just passed by. 
When the wagon stopped near the old ruins, they 
all gathered about it ; baskets were handed out 
and taken, and a shawl or two. I watched them 
as they separated and as they lingered, until all 
had climbed a fence there was, to disappear 
around the corner for, I suppose, their picnic. 

Some four miles from Fort William, following 
the shore of the arm of the sea, which reaches it 
and receives the canal, fishers' nets lining the 
way, a horse and gig passed me, driven by such a 
pleasant elderly gentleman as we hear of in those 
favored parishes where the learned man keeps a 
gig, and the people a minister. He reined up, for 
he thought I must be tired. A second time, then, 
I got a ride, and now for some six or eight miles, 
and with the pleasantest of company, a kind and 



126 THE YANKEE BOY 

well-informed Highland pastor. "When I left liin/ 
at his house, he asked me cordially to come in for 
tea, but I tlionght best to decline, and left a 
homelike group of houses and the church, facing 
upon the beautiful bay, looking toward the misty 
hills of Morven. 

The two next miles had passed ; another was 
to bring me to the inn, where I was to spend the 
night, when something like music reached me 
from behind ; shortly the firing of a gun, and then 
a shout of voices followed, borne by the wind. 
All along this quarter there is a border of good 
land between the hills and the sea, and numbers 
of peasants' huts are scattered along the road. I 
turned and saw, some three quarters of a mile 
across the field, at the rear of me, a crowd of 
people near a group of cottages. Off went the 
gun again, and then another shout. I mounted 
the stone wall to get a better sight, and saw the 
crowd now in motion and coming my way. The 
notes of the music swelled more distinctly, coming 
from a true Highland bagpipe in native melody 
upon the air. On they came, following the lane 
and then the road, still coming toward me ; girls, 
women, and men, bagpipe and gun, with a nu- 
merous following of children in the rear. As they 
neared me, I made a signal of sympathy, and 
swung my hat. This took well, and brought an 
echo from the gun and a rousing cheer. I fell be- 
hind, in rear of the children, and learned from 



FKOM HOME. 127 

tliose outside at a cottage I passed that it was a 
" wedding party ; " tliey were going to the inn to 
get married, and if I hurried I might see the 
affair. 

The party stopped at the first inn. I crossed 
the ferry to the second, which was a better one, 
bnt returned and ordered tea, telling the landlord 
I wished for a chance at the wedding while his 
meal was preparing. He had doubts, but I pushed 
him on, knowing that faint heart never won, and. 
intending to slip in and observe in the crowd. 
The landlord felt the importance of the meeting, 
and, beckoning to one of the leading men, asked 
for my name. I would have avoided ceremony, 
but was led to the centre of the room, where stood 
the clergyman. I conld only say to him that I 
was an American traveller, and, seeing the gay 
company, had ventured to follow in, and had asked 
of the landlord to see a Highland wedding. The 
clergyman gave me a hearty welcome ; I sat 
down by an amiable lass, who pointed out to me 
the pair to be married. The ceremony passed in 
Gaelic, then the friends gathered to shake hands 
with the hap2)y pair. I saw very little kissing, 
but whiskey was brought in plentifully and passed 
around to all, when seated, poured in a wine glass. 
Waiting the opportunity, I added my good wishes 
to those of their friends, wishing them as joyous a 
life as they had commenced in their wedding, and, 
after a few minutes more with the lass beside me, 



128 THE YANKEE EOY 

who did her part exceedingly well, excused myself 
to her, to look for my tea. 

I found this in the room above, and was enjoy- 
ing it qnietly when joined by the clergyman. He 
was to cross the ferry after signing certain papers 
which were expected. I waited his movement, 
therefore, conversing with him or looking in npon 
the dancing, which had commenced below. The 
Highland reel was danced to the bagpipe by male 
and female. At last the papers came, and the 
clergyman was released. The boatman left the 
dance to ferry ns over the river. 

July 11. — Yesterday I had breakfast of tront, 
and, at eight o'clock, started for the steamer that 
goes about the island of Mull for Zona and Staffa. 
A young Scotchman from the same hotel ofiered 
for company ; so we took a second passage, and, se- 
curing good seats at the front of the boat, did not 
envy those who paid five shillings for hardly so 
good a place. There was a beautifully blue dress, 
that landed on the dock from an incoming steamer 
as we went out, that my Scotch friend recognized 
as one that he had ridden with the day before, 
and found delightfully coquettish. A stiff breeze 
blew on the sea, that made the blue waves dance 
around us. The day was fair, the steamer stanch, 
and fearlessly curved about the rocky coast of 
Mull. 

My companion proved quite universally a 
pleasant fellow. He was in the midst of a yarn 



FEOM HOME. 129 

as the boat stopped at lona. A small boat from 
the shore made but a single trip for the number 
who landed. A bit of village was before iis, of 
one-stoiy stone houses, w^hitewashed ; signs of 
ruins w^ere about, or fragments of wrought stone, 
and most conspicnons, a little to the right of the 
town street, the well-preserved remains of the 
old cathedral. My friend and I lagged behind 
the rest for a lunch. When ready for the tour of 
the ruins, a flock of children, enough for the whole 
island, closed about us in the way of trade. They 
had saucers of shells and stones, and papers of 
dried seaweed. 

" Please buy, sir ! please buy, sir ! A six- 
jpence for the lot." 

" Please buy mine, sir ! only a three-pence for 
the lot." 

" Please buy mine, too, sir ! " 

" But, my little girl, I've enough already." 

" Please buy them, sir ! only a three-pence for 
the lot." 

Keleased once more, I proj^osed to my friend 
to strike directly for a hill that seemed to com- 
mand an extensive view. Throui>;li a wheat field, 
up a ledge of rocks, we soon reached this, with its 
panorama of the little island once so famous. It 
is mostly pasture, with sheep and small cattle 
about. In the west the Atlantic was unbroken. 
The rock of Staflfa we could see to the north, other 
small islands beyond it, and east the shores, all 
6* 



130 THE YANKEE BOY 

mountainous and indented with bays, of Mull ; 
one lofty jDeak u^Don it that ke^Dt covered with 
clouds. Nearly all solitude it seemed ; no sound 
for us hut the ocean's roar and the wind. 

At a signal from the steamer we returned 
aboard and headed for Staifa. Landed again by 
a small boat, we w^alked on the basaltic columns 
to the entrance of Fingal's Cave. The sea rushes 
into the cave, rising or falling with the tide to its 
upper end. The columns of basalt, in shape pil- 
lars of cut stone or iron, line its sides and arch its 
roof. On one side upon these one can walk to the 
extremity, but just as I had reached there and 
began to grow sullen with the sullen surf, there 
came the order to go. We passed afterward on 
to the height of this island — smaller and lonelier 
it is than lona — which gave another beautiful 
view of the bay in front of us, and a more ex- 
tended one of the ocean. Continuing in our 
course clear around the island of Mull, we reached 
Oban at seven o'clock. 

Shore of Loch Awe, Julj 12. 

I left Oban yesterday at 2 p. m., taking a back- 
ward route to Taynault, where I was three days 
ago. It is a handsome route nearly the whole 
way. An arm of the sea comes to Taynault, 
which the road keeps in sight, and along the 
shore of. The opposite shore is mountainous; 
only in places, though, do the mountains come 
directly from the water. I passed again by the 



FROM HOME. 131 

picnic ruin, and by a long log that I knew, from 
having lain and dozed upon it quite a time. At 
the Taynault inn I took some bread and milk, and 
watched a great frolic outside, of some lads and 
lassies that were dncking each other with water. 
One of the girls, that would have been the belle, 
for she was very pretty, slipped into the kitchen, 
got a whole pail of water, and, returning whilst 
his back was turned, succeeded in pouring it all 
on one of the young men. He shook himself 
much as a ]N"ewfoundland dog, but then darted for 
the girl. A few rods below, crossing the road, 
was a clear stream. The lassie fought well for 
perhaps ten minutes, but at last, completely tired 
out, suffered herself to be carried, and was very 
completely immersed in the cold water. 

After leaving the inn the road goes down the 
brae, crosses a stone arch, turns to the right tow- 
ard Loch Awe ferry, pushing into the hills. These 
are covered with a young growth of copse. It is 
the twilight hour. The richest singing of birds 
that I have heard meets me. The birds chieiiy 
are what they call here thrushes, very much like 
our robin, but not its equal. From the hilltop 
where I met the first house, there was something 
of a view. Three miles more, through the pasture 
land, brought me to a village with a kirk and post 
office, two old two-story honses, and a number of 
small ones or huts. Leaving these, I overtook on 
the road a peasant woman, and had a bit of con- 



132 THE YANKEE BOY 

versation. She had the honest Scotch manner ; 
wanted to know if I was English ; I told her 
American. That seemed a long way off. Then 
came the war affair. She had seen by the 
papers that it was conducted in the most crnel 
manner. She stopped speaking for a few mo- 
ments ; I knew she was thinking of the wars and 
rumors of wars. As I left her at the gate of her 
lowly home, she advised me as to the inns, of 
wdiich there is one each side of the ferry. 

It is now past noon ; a rain outside, but not a 
hard one. I am twelve miles only from Inverary, 
where I go for the Sunday. 

Inveeaky, July 12, Saturday night. 

Finding here a temperance hotel, I stop at it, 
having uniformly found houses of its class com- 
fortable and reasonable in charges. They are 
more economically kept, generally much smaller 
than the so-called first-class hotels. You find at 
them the commercial or middle class of travellers, 
that may prefer them for economy or comfort, and 
some of them from principle. (A young man 
enters as I write, whistling as industriously as a 
small Yankee boy coming through a wood at 
night.) At Newcastle the temperance houses were 
large, and added the term '' commercial " to their 
name. (Our wdiistling friend has rung the bell, 
to order a cup of coffee with plain bread and 
butter, but has recommenced to whistle.) Their 



FEOM HOME- 133 

prices were about two thirds those of the first- 
class, the entertainment as good, but no piano or 
showy parlor. The same is true at Edinburgh 
and other large towns. Style is costly ; those who 
expect it, expect to pay. At Dnnkeld, as here or 
in any small place, a temperance hotel is a private 
house made public on a certain plan, and is more 
or less comfortable as it may happen. This ap- 
pears well. The sitting-room carpet should be a 
bit cleaner, and the old Scotch gentleman, that 
hangs against the w^all, might have been better 
painted ; as for that matter, he would make a 
handsomer decoration if he didn't look so much 
like the herring he doubtless used to catch. The 
long table on one side is covered with books and 
papers — one of the former. The Ancient British 
Church at lona. There are Temperance Tales, 
Scotch Travels, Sermons, at the end a backgam- 
mon board. My bedroom up stairs is all right, 
with a good bed and a Bible on the bureau. 

The wdiistler I j5nd is from Yorkshire. He 
said at a glance that I w^as from London, and, 
being of a sanguine temperament, disdains to in-, 
quire if right. He thinks he has been sold in 
crossing the ferry, and guesses he will inquire 
about it to-morrow. He does not like to be sold. 
He left a beautiful i^ipe, too, in the glen he came 
through this afternoon ; a very beautiful glen* 
called Hell Glen. " Only twenty-hve minutes in 
crossing the ferry, for two shillings ; I don't like 
to be sold." 



134 THE TAITKEE BOY 

Monday morning at Inveeaet. 

** 'Twas thy voice, my gentle Mary, 
And thy artless, winning smile, 
That made the world an Eden, 
Bonny Mary of Argyle." 

Going on to the Duke of Argyle's grounds 
yesterday suggested " Mary of Argyle." I no- 
ticed fine lime trees in front of the castle ; in the 
wood the largest firs and beeches I have met. 
The oaks did not thrive well ; birches were in 
plenty, but not our white birch. From the hill 
that overlooks the castle there should be a fine 
view of the other hills about, and the arm of the 
sea that shoots up here. The castle itself, per- 
fectly plain, looks to me exceedingly handsome 
below, but at the second story the funds seem to 
have given out ; in the box that is added on top 
the whole effect is ruined. The duke is not 
wealthy by his Highland estates, but opens his 
beautiful grounds to the public, and is a sound 
temperance man. 

From Loch Awe we had tlie Highland scenery, 
hill, heather, and sheep, with a sprinkling of small 
old stone dwellings. But as July grows warmer 
I find a flood of little plants and shrubs begin to 
blossom. The bell heather, with a beautiful little 
bell-shaped flower, flings a new shade on the hill- 
sides. Of its delicate hue, I only think of one of 
our wild flowers to compare it with, a small pur- 
ple cluster that comes early in spring. I can 



FKOM HOME. 135 

think Low it grows, and where it grows, but not 
surely of its name. The bluebells here keep 
more in the grass, but all along the roadside, the 
stream sides, and the borders of the hills, the fox- 
glove shoots out its stem, and fills it with its 
showy pink flowers. When I see these by a 
stream at a little distance, I think them the car- 
dinal flowers, but find them difi'erently formed on 
the stem and far less brilliant. Honeysuckle blos- 
soms I saw in abundance, climbing up the bushes 
near Loch Awe. A little white flower like pep- 
per grass grows everywhere on the banks. But- 
tercujDS flourish as with us, and, when I come to 
the Lowlands, the daisy tells me there ought to be 
strawberries. Besides these there are other little 
flowers, less frequent or less forward, many of 
them that I know, some that I do not. Golden 
rod and everlasting I have not seen since leaving 
home, nor the mullen, that guards our pastures 
with so much care. Of trees I have seen no ma- 
ples, nor hemlock, nor cedar, unless in gardens 
here ; I think, not on the Continent. The ash and 
mountain ash are both common here as with us ; 
basswood I do not find ; butternut and hickory 
are unknown. 

Arrochae, two miles from Locn Lomonp, July 14. 

I came in here last night from a walk of 
eighteen miles through two fine glens, their sides 
rising in high sloping sheep pastures, at least fif- 
teen hundred feet. Less rocky and more fertile 



136 THE YANKEE BOY 

than usual, these were covered to the top with 
grass, and not with heather. The sheep, too, were 
white faced, liandsome, and finer than most I have 
found. They looked only specks clear np toward the 
top. All sheep and cattle run out in the High- 
lands through the winter, and pick their own living. 
The black-faced Highland breed, hardy, winter 
without difficulty. The finer flocks occasionally suf- 
fer severely. The cattle show a similat difference, 
many of them coarse, with big heads and large 
horns, and the countenance of bisons. I see, also, 
many handsome, social-looking cows, which give, 
I suppose, the sweet, rich milk I find so plenty. 

I got, Saturday, reports from Charleston and 
Richmond ; to-day, news to the 2d of July, when 
McClellan stood tandem^ the right wing behind 
the left. A Glasgow paper thinks the almighty 
Yankee is in a position to run, but I don't quite 
see where he is to run to. Other editorials of 
papers I see, are in a better spirit than before the 
battle. I think I shall be in Glasgow Thursday, 
and shall find there letters and papers for the last 
four weeks, the longest interval, except the first, I 
have made. I have just thought that to-day is my 
birthday, and I am twenty-three. McClellan, 
they say, is thirty-eight. I make no complaint of 
him ; but if Scott were at that age — 

Glasgow, Wednesday oveuing. 

Highlands no more. I bade them farewell to- 
day from the top of Ben Lomond. It was not the 



FROM HOME. 137 

best of days for this favorite view, but a fair one. 
The distance got blended in the mist, but we had 
the bcantifrd Loch Lomond itself, with its little 
islands at the wider end below ; its high mountain 
shores beside and opposite ns. Loch Katrine and 
its mountains were at the northeast, and east, al- 
most directly, was the fine valley that opens out on 
Stirling and its castle, wdience Ben Lomond shows 
so prominently. Ben Lomond itself rises thirty- 
two hundred feet above the lake. It is matted to 
the top with coarse grass tufts that furnish food 
for countless sheep, and from springs it sends down 
many a gay burn that widens as it goes. One of 
these, starting directly below us, at the north- 
east, a very w^ee thing, gets soon to be a bold biir- 
nie and the eye follows it a long, long distance 
winding through its own valley to the little Loch 
Chou. 

I overtook a party of English lads in making 
the ascent. They were direct from Glasgow, and 
brought the latest news of McClellan's tandem 
movement. This was as favorable as I expected ; 
I can yet keep a bold front with the Yankee flag 
flying. By extracts from American papers, I have 
seen how they take the English comments on But- 
ler's demi-monde order. 

Well, as I hoped, I have found here four let- 
ters ; one of May 1, to London, was found and for- 
warded at the second request, as is the home news- 
paper whenever ordered. It was well done at the 



>0 



138 THE TAXKEE BOY 

'Metropolitan office ; tliey looked again. One by 
one I read tlie letters as I leisurely ate my supper, 
and afterward, throwing myself on a sofa, re-read 
all, and followed with the home items of the news- 
papers. The weather to-day is hot and sultry, the 
first such of the season. But my pen begins to 
doze ; Lock Lomond, and Ben Lomond, and Loch 
Tay, and Lock Ness hover about me, in dreamy 
confusion. 



FEOM HOME. 139 



XIV. 

Glasgow, July 19. 

I STOP here at Glasgow, as at Edinburgh, at the 
"Waverley Temperance Hotel. They are owned 
by the same man. This is full at present ; among 
the company are a number of Canadians, who 
came over for the Exhibition, by the Quebec and 
Glasgow line. 

To-day appears to be what we should call in 
France a fete. The stores chiefly are shut ; the 
people out en nnasse for a holiday. Down town a 
way the fair shows are going on, a crowd packing 
the streets near, and gathered on the green by the 
Clyde. A vigorous auctioneer, with the hammer, 
claims attention, and assures you, in the crowd 
that surrounds him, if you will not give a shil- 
ling for his pair of suspenders you shall have them 
for a sixpence. A man on the left makes the 
same offer with a penknife. Further on, the beat 
of a drum before a circus contends with the blast 
of a trumpet before a menagerie, and the placards 
of a concert with those of a theatre. Escaping the 



14:0 THE YANKEE BOY 

crowd, and turning another direction, a mile's 
walk brought me to the cathedral, and, beyond 
this, to the cemetery, where I stole a pink for my 
solitary souvenir, and had a grand glimpse of the 
city and its chimneys of manufactories. There 
was a stiff breeze ; now and then a brisk shower. 

Sunday nig/it.^—l had a nap this afternoon, 
but, coming down to tea, passed the evening so- 
ciably with a number of these Canadians. Tliere 
was one girl American born, the rest were origin- 
ally from Scotland. The evening passed not bad- 
ly, but it provokes one to see these Island-horn 
Canadians more jealous of us than if they had 
lived always on this side. 

I attended the morning service at church, and, 
the Aveather being clear, walked afterward to the 
West End of the city. I had heard so much of 
the superior beauty of Edinburgh that I was sur- 
prised_ to find the dwellings here far finer than I 
had seen there. Commerce brings wealth, wealth 
builds with solidity and beauty. From the West 
End the view off toward the Clyde valley is very 
charming. Altogether Glasgow is a great com- 
mercial and manufacturing city. It shows capital 
in the business and style of building of every 
street. I can admire the whole of it for its life 
and activity, and, as I hinted above, the West 
End, or fashionable part, seemed to me in all re- 
spects ecpal to any city I have seen this side the 
sea. 



FEOM HOME. 141 

Sc I close on Glasgow. Where next ? is now 
tlie question. I conld sail more cheaply from here 
than by any other route. The first cabin passage 
is but sixty-six dollars to Montreal. But there is 
Ireland yet, and my fancy hints of Wales and 
perhaps a fashionable watering place. My watch 
tells me it is time for bed. 

Lakgs, Coast of Clyde, July 21. 

Here again is a temperance hotel. Tliis day 
went busily in the morning, getting a bundle done 
up for Liverpool. It ended in landing me from 
a moderate Scotch steamer, that runs from Glas- 
gow down to Largs, and after to Millport. The 
Clyde, for about fifteen miles from Glasgow, is 
but a narrow river, with muddy water, that is 
made brackish by the tide. In low water the av- 
erage depth above Greenock is only ten feet, so 
that large vessels do not ascend. Below Greenock 
the river has widened out into the frith. I no- 
ticed many large ships being built at Greenock. 
High hills and handsome bays, along the shore, 
and islands mingle in the scenery. A modest 
young girl told me all about the country we pass- 
ed ; she knew it all well. 

July 22. — I have just finished a breakfast of 
oatmeal porridge and milk. The wind seems gone 
down as I look out of the window on the sea ; or, 
rather, the sound lies almost smooth, and is dotted 
with small boats, and, just as last night, there are 
people strolling about the beach. Last night I 



142 THE YANKEE BOY 

walked up by the shore road, some three miles, 
followed by and following parties of young folk 
ranging like myself I ended my stroll on a 
brown-colored rock by the shore; looked around 
for shells, but did not find any ; and lay again to 
hear the surf that moaned so sullenly. Return- 
ing, I passed more of the holiday parties, one play- 
ing a game of string, another dancing on the green, 
many youths and their lassies, in the long day- 
light, strolling about the beach. ^Nearly all the 
girls looked modest and tidy, and were not more 
familiar than one would expect them to be in the 
land of Burns. The Glasgow fair extends over a 
week at this season, as an old custom ; during 
more or less of it the whole working city is releas- 
ed from employment. The more worthless portion 
keep about home, where the circuses and menage- 
ries are in full tide. Those, who enjoy the country, 
take which they please of the various coast steam- 
ers that ply to the ports and islands of the neigh- 
borhood. Rothesay, in the isle of Bute, is a fa- 
vorite point ; there are others more attractive than 
this, but scarcely any of them shows a crowd so 
well assorted. 

Ayr, Thursday, July 24. 

From Largs to Ayr is not a great distance, but 
I had a call to make on my friend, the Scotch pas- 
tor from the Pyrenees. I had heard in the High- 
lands that he had married and returned for the 
Bummer. As I had heard nothing before, and seen 



FROM HOME. 143 

nothing suspicions mjself, I was prepared for a 

mistake. From Largs to is bnt three miles 

along the coast. Mr. B 's honse is close bj 

the shore, looking out on the bay, or frith. I 
found the senior couple, as usual, at home. George 
had gone to see a sister, but would be back at six. 
But the bride was in : of course the marriao:e was 
real, and was the great event, as much to the old 
folks as to the young. And the lady was from our 
French parish, a Swiss girl ; I must have seen her 
at the rehearsals of the choir. I had lost two cous- 
ins to Swiss girls at New York, but this whole 
thing was new to me. I was obliged to admit a 
want of memory for the foreign name, but for the 
face I wondered which of the dozen it would prove. 

Mr. B , senior, had, after a time, left the room ; 

Mrs. B , who was a little deaf, was reading, 

and did not notice the new bride's entrance. I 
knew her face instantly. I had noticed it the first 
time, or about the fii'st time, of my attending the 
Scotch church at Pan. I recollect thinking of a 
friend who would have chosen it amid the group, 
— ^his style and this subject were special alike,— 
but had not thought of the discrimination it was 
inviting from the foreign, pasteur. The dignity 
of the wife was just perceptibly veiling the shy- 
ness of the child. She knew me, too, it was evi- 
dent, and, reaching the table, looked toward the 
mother-in-law. The good dame might have been 
somewhere near the middle of Deuteronomv, with 
the intention of finishing the book. 



144 THE YANKEE BOY 

" I know your face well, and voii must be Mrs. 

B . There was no one at whom I should 

have recognized sooner." 

Bj this time the good dame had arranged her 
mark, and looked np to find the interview begun 
much in the usual way. So, also, passed the af- 
ternoon, till the boat came with Monsieur B , 

and afterward, shortly, the supper. The senior 

Mrs. B is Highland born, thoughtful for all 

others, thoughtless of herself; her Celtic courtesy 
lends a grace of welcome to the stranger's stay. 
After supper, the young people inviting a pair of 
neighbors to the party, we had a boat-sail on the 
frith. The scenery was very fine ; we had a long 
and very pleasant ^ail. It seemed as though we 
were on the lake, the islands -make so perfect an 
opposite shore ; I thought no water scene had 
pleased me more. The evening closed, after our 
return, with singing a psalm and family prayers. 

In the morning I took the boat for Arran 
Island, going as far as Lam Loch, and returning 
to Millport, opposite my starting place. As it 
faces the frith, Arran throws up quite a handsome 
chain of mountains. These prove mostly rock, as 
you approach, with the genuine Highland glens 
piercing them, so that the scenery is very much 
what I have often described. I took the Ayr 
steamer at five in the afternoon and reached here 
about night. 

Sunday evening^ July 28. — I intend leaving 



FEOM HOME. 145 

here in the morning, have been to church twice 
to-day, the first time going to a small chapel, and 
the last to a large, new and very handsome church. 
I might have gone again this evening, perhaj^s, if 
I had not made too late a supper, and then got 
sleepy. The fact is, I tumbled on the bed and 
had a good nap. I am wondering how long a 
stop my sister made here at Ayr, and if slie went 
anywhere but to Burns's cottage. "Well, that's 
enough ; you see pretty much all the lay of the 
land. However, I enjoyed the walk, that I made 
on Thursday, along the bank of the Ayr river, to 
a handsome bridge I found several miles up, as 
much as that of Friday to the Doon. I don't 
know that I connected any memories with it, or, 
in fact, very much with either, but 'twas a relief 
of green fields and harvest from the city life of 
Glasgow, and a change from the Highlands, and 
Highland heather. The Ayr was swollen with a 
big rain we had had, so that the tree branches on 
either side were dragging in the water, getting 
very wet. The water, because of the rain per- 
haps, was thoroughly muddy. For a souvenir of 
this walk I plucked a daisy — they have been 
scarce in the Highlands ; I have got it pressing 
now in my paper-covered edition of Burns's Songs, 
with one of the legs of the bedstead on it, that 
seem to have been made on purpose for this use, 
broad at the bottom. 

Friday was a more beautiful day for a stroll ; 
7 



146 THE YANKEE BOY 

it was almost perfect, and I used it well. I en- 
joyed it too ; positively mused along tlie banks of 
Bonnie Doon, studied the relative proportions of 
the old and new arches with a critical eye, won- 
dered when the ivy that's clinging to the old one 
began to cling, bethought myself of listening to 
the chanting of the little birds, and then sought 
along the banks and braes for the little flowers 
that I knew bloomed there sae afresh and fair. 
When I found one, I took it to pnt alongside my 
daisy. 

The Doon is not a big stream ; a man could 
jump across it in three jumps, if he jumped well. 
But it's a pretty stream — as you see it near the 
bridges, a very pretty one. Of the country about 
it, as of all that you see about Ayr, it's a hand- 
some variation of farming land, with the sea in 
sight on one side, with a long swell beyond Burns's 
village, that might have been, or perhaps might 
be called now, a heather hill, on another; but 
only one or two points of low mountains in the 
horizon, unless perhaps you except those on the 
islands. Being alone, and so having a good deal 
of extra . time, I wondered, among other things, 
why Burns did not sing more of these islands, and 
of the sea that had always been within his sight. 
I suppose he did not get much of a chance with a 
boat, when he worked on the farm ; didn't own a 
boat, as some folks do ; any way, he seems to have 
liked a ripple better than a wave, Bonnie Doon 



FEOM HOME. 147 

better than a firtli, and a bonnie lassie better than 
them alL 

The monument was to me handsome in itself, 
and appropriate ; the gromxls abont it richly 
flowered, and neatly kept. Alloway Kirk is a 
remarkably choice ruin, beautifully situated, and 
might well have suggested a legend to one who 
dearly loved the whole spot about with the at- 
tachment that a warm heart ever feels to its home. 
Burns's cottage is a very neat one of its kind, pret- 
tily placed. With a family within, cheerful in 
mutual kindness, happy with peaceful hearts, no 
palace could offer a dearer home nor claim a 
stronger love. 

There remains old Ayr, which I feel the more 
disposed to speak kindly of as I leave in the morn- 
ing; but, to talk truth, it's a quaint old town 
that never knew what beauty in itself was. At the 
same time it has found out its effects, and knows 
how to give these. "When you shall have passed 
a few days in its almost, or quite obsolete streets, 
and won, if you are capable of doing it, the re- 
gards of the old low thatched houses, you will 
most cheerfully and honestly repeat what the old 
town is always ready to hear, — for such is van- 
ity,— 

" Old Ajr, wham ne'er a town surpasses 
For honest men and bonnie lassies." 



148 THE YANKEE BOY 

Stranraee, Tuesday night, July 27. 

And here do I close on Scotland. I have been 
looking at the low-monntained coast of Ireland, as 
it rose beyond the beautiful level of water, and took 
the sweet blue hue that memory loves. I bethought 
me of Fingal of old, of the days of Ossian, and the 
wild phantasies, that he wove, connecting with this 
coast. But aside from these it was the Emerald 
Isle, the sweet Erin of song and memory, that 
island which before all is the Isle of the Ocean ; I 
welcomed it with as real a delight as though I too 
could have sung, "Erin is my home." To-mor- 
row I hope to be upon it, yet I could almost go 
by and keep only the impressions I have from 
this distant sight. 'Twould be impossible to have 
a poetic ideal more fully realized. A low beau- 
teous land rising from a calm sea, so far away 
that I can but just distinguish it, though the day 
has been a gala one of sunshine and cloudlet 
shadows. 

Yesterday and to-day have both been charm- 
ing days. Yesterday you know I left Ayr. I left 
it littling in the distance ; as I went by the cars it 
littled rapidly. I kept by cars twenty-three miles 
to Girvan, where the railroad ends. I don't think 
that I have passed through any region that has so 
much the native look ; and now, out of the route 
of tourists, the hotels have a natural charge.\ 

Girvan is an old fishing town, shaped like a 
kite, with the church and buildings around it for 



FROM HOME. 149 

the body, and one long street for the tail. This 
street runs three quarters of a mile, lined for the 
most part with low slate-roofed houses, made of 
stone, and plastered. It abounds with dirty chil- 
dren, who form an extended line of tangled tow- 
heads on each side. They rested from their labors 
of building castles in the dust, as I and my sack 
passed down the centre, and doubtless were un- 
distu.rbed again, till the daily stage to Stranraer 
went through. 

Once more in the open country, and near the 
open sea, I had a long quiet walk pretty much to 
myself. I had one rather full talk with two 
fishermen, who were disentangling their nets upon 
the shore. They told me that the seaweed, 
that is thrown up all along, was left to ^' rote " a 
year, then carted off to mix with the land for 
manure, and that it was most excellent. They 
told me too, — but I must first tell you, that, at the 
toss of nine miles from the shore, along where I 
was going, rises, heaved from the sea, Ailsa Craig, 
an immense little mountain of rock ; it is nearly 
three miles in circumference, and 1,110 feet in 
height. I said it rose from tl^^e sea. It might 
have been pitched in from above. For aught I 
know it's the tail end of an ancient meteor that 
got extinguished, by falling in so wet a frith. 
However, comet tail, or island summit, there it is, 
a large, uncouth, unnatural body, that suggests 
itself, before everything else, to your eye, each 



150 THE TANKEE BOY 

time you have winked. "Well, tlie very honest 
fishermen told me it was the favorite resort of all 
kinds of seafowl, who consider it a big Petra made 
for laying eggs in, and just adapted to the moral 
or physical developing of yonng sea-birds. These 
fishermen also told me, that the eggs of these sea- 
gulls are as large, as good for eating, as ducks' 
eggs, and their feathers well worth the plucking. 

I stopped for the night at Ballantrae, another 
and smaller fishing town, that lies here away on 
the coast, thirteen miles from Girvan. From Bal- 
lantrae to Stranraer were yet seventeen miles. 
The road, after eight miles across a neck of land, 
where the bell heather again flourishes, comes to 
Loch Ryan, then winds close about this loch to 
Stranraer. Incident was scarce along here. There 
was what seemed to be a small picnic party quite 
a way ahead of me, but they turned off before I 
could come up. The girls looked blythe and 
saucy, and were prettily dressed. I was very 
sorry they turned off so quickly, but — they did. 



FKOM HOME. 161 



XV. 

LoNDONDEBKY, Irelakd, Angust 8, 1862. 

I AM in a hotel here that can have no recom- 
mendation except that of cheapness, and that's 
one you don't appreciate till the time comes to 
settle the bill. I have been to Belfast, and I have 
been to Port Rush, the Giant's Causeway, and am 
now come to Londonderry. Belfast is a larger 
city than I supposed, has a good deal of extra 
boating in its harbor, with very much more busi- 
ness than they have here at Londonderry. It has 
one centre business street, with a branch from it, 
that is quite well built, and looks city-like ; other- 
wise, the buildings are mostly of brick, with but 
little about them that is pleasing, so that, although 
not a disagreeable city, it is one you would not 
care to stop in long. Between Belfast and Cole- 
raine, there is a long stretch of hue country. As 
I saw it from the railway, it was hedged into 
patches, hardly any of them larger than a good- 
sized garden, whether they be used for potatoes, 
flax, turnips, or as a pasture to the cows. A branch 



152 THE YANKEE EOT 

railway goes from Colcraine to Port Rush, and 
then to the Giant's Causeway there are seven 
miles by wagon or foot. I left my sack at the 
depot and started d pied. The road runs around 
the harbor -SiVe miles, to a small village. Here 
you can make a short cut across the beach, that, 
with the tide out, lies before you a beautiful path 
of compact sand. As usual lately I had no friend, 
but I had an umbrella with a brass-pointed shaft ; 
with it I wrote in the smooth sand a name. You 
remember the Seville girl wrote a motto ; 

" Her words were three, and not one more, 
What could Diana's motto be ? 
The Syren wrote upon the shore, 
Death, not inconstancy." 

"What a fool she was ! 

Was she ? What a miserable doubter of truth 
and goodness you are! She was a magnificent 
girl. I do not care if she forgot on the morrow 
the words she had written to-day, she was a mag- 
nificent girl to have felt them in those few hesitat- 
ing moments. 

Over the beach and up the hill, there is a large 

^ hotel, it must be, though I didn't go in. Passed 

this, commenced the attack of the infernals. One 

line battered me geologically with stones ; the 

other metaphysically with ideas. 

" Pure Irish diamonds, your honor, rock crys- 
tal, coral, and every variety of interesting stones. 



FEOM HOME. 153 

Your honor shall have the whole collection for a 
shilling." 

" Here, your honor, is another box for a sax- 
pence." 

" Indade, your honor'll nade a guide, some one 
to point out the particulars. You see, your honor 
might go by some of the most entertaining points. 
Indade, you'll want some one to point out the par- 
ticulars. Yes, indade you will." 

There is on the coast here a semicircular cliff 
of rock and land, of, I should say, three hundred 
feet or more in height. Between the foot of this 
cliff, only the tv/o ends of which run to the sea, 
and the water, you have the causeway ; but a part 
of the cliff itself shows the sides of the same ba- 
saltic columns, the tops of which rise from out 
the water, forming, closely j)acked together, the 
causeway that you can walk on, or that the giant 
walked on. It is precisely the same sort of thing 
as at Staffa, but far less interesting. Here there 
is more causeway, but there you have a single 
strange spot in the ocean, with its cave, where 
these columns are, and where the sea is always 
chanting its dirge of immortality. 

I came back as I went, hoping, but failing to 
catch the train, that I knew left somewhere near 
eight for Londonderry. The name I left upon the 
sand was yet perfect when I repassed. Yesterday 
morning I came here. There w^asn't much of 
scenery from the cars ; one side water, the other 
not inviting. 7* 



154 THE YANKEE BOY 

Enniskillen, Imperial Hotel, Monday night. 

I am swinging first class to-night, confonnd the 
expense, but I opine, — English writers say that's 
the way we speak in America, — I oj)ine that I've 
saved enough yesterday to carry me through Ire- 
land. II plenty il jpleut toujours^ comme il a jplu 
aujonTWhid^ — since I left ISTewtown Stewart. 

In haying time, when I was a boy, with us al- 
ways worked two Irishmen. I have always known 
them. One of them came from Newtown Stew- 
art, the other from Port Arlington. To stop at 
both of these places, and be able to report direct, 
I make a part of my trip in Ireland. At half past 
nine I took my ticket at Londonderry for ]^ew- 
town Stewart. We followed a river most of the 
way, went by Sion Mills, where a good-sized stone 
spinning mill was, and Victoria Bridge, where an 
unpretending stone arch bridge was. At I^ew- 
town Stewart station I got out of the cars, left my 
sack, and walked across the old stone bridge to the 
village. It was market day, hence the country 
people had brought in their stuff, and were selling 
it in the street, making an unusual stir. I walked 
up through. The street is a very wide one for a 
small village ; wxU built for its size, that is, when 
compared with any of the old towns you find over 
here. Well, I walked to the end, and then, turn- 
ing with the road to the left, kept by some small 
old one-story dwelling houses, to where there are 
thre.e narrow roads parting off toward " Bessy Bell 



FROM HOME. 155 

Mountain." Here was one quite tidy place, with 
two or three much smaller just beyond it. Com- 
ing from one of these, and toward me, was an old 
Irishman ; he had a pleasant face and honest eye. 
I thought perhaps that he would remember those 
that I knew from here, at any rate could tell me 
something of the place ; I hailed him. 

" Have you lived in this old town a long time, 
sir?" 

" Yes, for some time." 

"I am an American, and stopped here from 
the cars this morning, because it's the native place 
of an Irish family I have known ever since I was 
a boy." 

" An American, are you ? I was born here, 
lad, in that house you see there, and live now in 
this one " (he pointed to the tidy place I spoke 
of). Yesterday was my birthday. I was eighty 
years old yesterday." 

I don't think any one would have thought the 
old man over sixty. He was walking vigorously. 
His sight and hearing both seemed perfect. From 
the moment I told my errand, or, in fact, that I 
was an American, he was wholly interested in me. 
He had had himself, he said, five children in Amer- 
ica, though two of them were dead. He knew of 

the family, but could not identify Patrick or 

John, but thought they would remember him if 
old enough. His name was Fatten \ he used to 
keep a distillery in the village. He pointed out 



* 



156 THE YANKEE EOT 

to me tlie scenes about, the high mountains back, 
the old castlo wall to the right of it, as also 
the castle ruins in the village. Afterward we 
walked down again to the town. I left him to get 
dinner at the hotel. Coming out an hour after 
the old man stood near by, hailed me, and joined 
me again to go to the depot. 

What would you think of being here in this 
old Irish town to-night ? Enniskillen ! Did you 
ever ponder the name in your geography ? And 
then if you were here alone, or if you had been 
wandering for almost two years ! It's a gloomy 
night outside. The rain has come this afternoon 
in torrents, "en versant," as we used to say in 
France. Oh! it is a gloomy night outside, and 
there's nothing pleasant inside but the ticking of 
the clock. I would give a thousand worlds for a 
Mother's kiss to-night : 

" Eemote, unfriended, melancholy, slow." 

But I would rather close for the night, curiously, 
perhaps, in connection, with a Scotch verse : 

" Oh, weel may the boatie row, 

And "better may she speed ; 
And weel may the boatie row 

That wins the bairns' bread. 
The boatie rows, the boatie rows, 

The boatie rows indeed ; 
And happy be the lot o' a' 

That wish the boatie speed." 



FEOM HOME. 157 

Thursday evening. — Still at Enniskillen. 
"They -say tlie Northerners have got the devil 
knocked out of them this time." Coffee-room talk. 

I have stopped over here to-day to see Lough 
Erne. The steamer that should run on it has not 
yet commenced, and so I started off this morning 
afoot, kept along near, and on the shore of the 
lake, for ten miles ; here there was an Irish " pub- 
lic hoose," and I, and a couple of pigs, went in 
and got some bread and eggs. Then we all came 
out and looked at the lake, which was here at its 
widest point ; as the pigs had often seen it before 
they grunted off tow^ard the barn, leaving me 
and the lake alone. The lake, at this point, is 
simply a large fine sheet of water, with shores that 
are handsomely divided beween turnips and pota- 
toes. I waited for the mail van to Enniskillen, 
and by this returned to x^ass another night. Both 
times in passing I noticed a large stone quarry. 
It was near this in the morning that I had the 
first view of the lake, at, perhaps, its most hand- 
some point, for there are three or four large islands 
grouped together and covered with trees. 

Wednesday morning. — I wTote but little last 
night. There was too much talk going on in the 
commercial room. There were three or four Irish- 
men, one Scotchman, and one Englishman, from 
Liverpool. They caught up of course eagerly 
American rumors, that are said to have passed 
through here, by telegraph, from Derry. Most of 



158 THE YANKEE BOY 

tlicni did not try to conceal tlicir satisfaction ; as 
many as three made, and kept np for some time, 
nncalled-for insnl(iiii2^ remarks. Bnt the English- 
man, Avlu) liad shown all the eveniiig his sph^en 
;'i;*ainst the Yniikees, took now the otlier eonrse. 
One Trishiiian, and by far the most intelligent, 
sided strongly with ns. I left wdiat defence there 
was to be m:uK\ (o him, only occasionally correct- 
ed a statement; as, tlmt Iho !Sou11ummum-s seceded 
because^ the North forced tliem to pay taxes on 
their cotton as it passed tlu'ough Northern States 
*\ to New York, to be shipped. One of them thonght 
it was verv strange that no one had ever heard of 
the i>tnitherners before this war. They had always 
talked about the Yankees but you never heard of 
the S(nithernei*s, though it seems they were a great 
deal the stroni>:er nation. This was to him very 
curious. 

Kow for the reports that are circulating here, 
and we shall have no daily paper to shape them 
till half past twelve. First, then, that McClellan 
has been cut up in an inunonse battle, and the 
Southern army had advanced within thirty miles 
o'i "New York. That Congress (adjourned, I be- 
lieve, never mind I^ was debating whether or not 
to give up the war. All the many rumors I have 
traced down to these two. 

Wednesday. Mx^t.i.iNO.vi? Sv.vtion", <iu;ntor to eight, p. m. 

I jro hence to Athlone, leavins: here at twentv- 
two minutes past nine. " Tii-st class waiting and 



FROM HOME. 159 

refreshment room," it says over tlic door, where I 
have just come in. Being first class it is well got 
np, and has hesidc a fine array of refreshments a 
hirge table here, crowned with an inkstand and a 
phime — what a Yankee friend used to call, "A-dam 
goosequill." I left Enniskillen this noon. Up to 
that time the American canard, for so it proved, 
thrived ; but the Beltjist papers had full despatches 
from Derry, less this. A temporary relief at least, 
and though prospects certainly are a little gloomy 
on our side, I can hardly think the Southern army 
to have suftered less in the late battles than our 
own, or, that they are in a position for immediate 
and successful attack. 

This is a fine railroad station ; one of the finest 
I have seen. It is on the Dublin and Galway 
railway, where this northern route, that I have 
come, joins it. The building itself is of stone ; so 
have the smaller depots been that we have passed 
to-day. I noticed, between Belfast and Port Bush, 
a number of wooden ones, that looked very much 
like our own. 

A7e made one other stop to-day, of about three 
hours, at Carraii. The village was a little way 
from the depot. There was a number of these 
Irish skeleton gigs waiting for a passenger. The 
drivers were all very anxious that I should ride, 
aiul ofiered great inducements in price. I walked 
however up through one street, — oh, how forlorn 
these poor people look, — and tlien I turned and 



160 THE YAITKEE BOY 

came down another that joined it obliquely; it 
proved the principal street of the place. Yer j gay 
boards, A^ith large red letters, offered " entertain- 
ment for man and horse." Others, more modest, 
only talked of entertainment and refreshment, 
whilst to aid them they had some eggs and bis- 
cuits and candy in their windows. Afterward I 
came to a three-story plastered hotel, the Globe 
Hotel, with coffee and commercial rooms ; on 
farther there was another hotel of the same size. 
Here I went in. The dirt increased as I entered ; 
toward the kitchen it was frightful ; but the com- 
mercial room was comfortable enough, and the tea 
and toast that I ordered were good. 

LiMEEicK, Friday evening. 

There's a national agricultural show going on 
here at Limerick. I arrived this afternoon, with 
a ha'penny in my pocket. The first point was to 
find a hotel ; I did as I have often done, asked 
the first honest, practical-looking, business man 
I met, where was a good hotel that was reason- 
able in charges. The second point was to go to 
the banker's, the third to go to dinner, and then 
with one of these Irish gigs I went off to the fair. 
My gigman was not allowed to enter with his 
vehicle, so I paid him for the course a sixpence ; 
cheap enough. Another sixpence took me into 
the show. There were long sheds of cattle, quite 
a show of sheep, and, in another direction, a good 
collection of machinery and agricultural imple- 



FEOM HOME. 161 

ments. Afterward I came to tlie fowls, and a 
long line of tubs with bntter, but in yain I looked 
for the floral department ; there was none such ; 
the idea of connecting it with an agricultural fair 
seems here unknown. There were several richly 
dressed girls out that had been *' highly recom- 
mended," but she that took the first prize had 
gone home. 

Limerick to me compares well with Belfast ; 
that is, the long centre street is w^ell built, and, 
to-day being fair time, is full of people and gigs. 
Perhaps to-morrow I shall find it quiet enough. 

Last night I slept at Port Arlington. I went 
there from Athlone by rail. I had intended going 
by boat from Athlone down the Shannon to Lim- 
erick, and so slept at Athlone to take the boat 
advertised to sail in the morning. But when I 
saw the boat — than wdiich there was none better 
nor fleeter on this river — I began to ponder ; and 
when I learned from the captain that he didn't 
expect to get to Killaloe before ten the next day, I 
began to back out. Picture to yourself the most 
forlorn canal boat that ever rotted in one of the 
bulrush bays of Lake Champlain, run into one end 
of it a bit of smoke pipe — you will have the fac- 
simile of the craft advertise'd, as a steamer, to run 
on this river every other day. 

It was two o'clock when I reached Port Ar- 
lington. The depot was half a mile from the vil- 
lage. The village, as I came into it, was a long 



162 THE YANKEE BOY 

street, lined with two and three story aristocratic 
dwellings. Toward the end of the street was the 
best hotel, called now the Matthews Hotel ; here 
I stopped, and indulged in bread and milk with 
strawberries. The lunch over, I walked out, and 
down the street, to a small bookstore. I went in 
to see if there might be a stereoscopic view of the 
neighborhood. There was none ; but finding the 
old man talkative and intelligent I explained to 
him more fully my errand, and he came up the 
street with me, to help set me on the right track to 

find the friends of Mr. P , the Irishman that 

had lived so long with us at home. He supposed 
these to be two brothers of the name, that lived 
three miles out. Luckily, at the head of the street, 
in the old market place, was one of these brothers. 
He pointed him out to me ; I went on alone. 
Coming close, I knew, from family resemblance, he 
must be the man I wanted. He was standing by 
a load of turf, with three or four other laboring 
men. I went up and asked if he had any rela- 
tions in America. Yes, he had ; -there was Mag- 
gie, but she'd got back ; and there was Maggie's 
husband, but he'd got back too ; and then there 
was Allie, and Harry, and Johnson. I told him I 
thought I could give the last reports from them, 
that Harry had lived with us fifteen years, and 
that Allie lived close by. It was several minutes 
before he comprehended all, or how I came here, 
but when he did the thing was complete. " Great 



FEOM HOME. 163 

God Almighty, you don't say tliat yon have seen 
them ! " 

I learned that he was the oldest brother, 
and had a wife, and one daughter, Maggie ; 
that Maggie was married, and had two chil- 
dren, who lived with them ; that she, with her 
Imsband, had been to America, to Long Island, 
but had returned about a year ago. Then there 
was another brother, younger, who lived a little 
way beyond him, with a wife and seven or eight 
children. There was also Johnson's sister living 
on the way. I made arrangements directly to go 
back with him, and so see them all. He was 
going back as soon as he had sold his turf, and 
would let me know at the hotel. In the course 
of an hour he called. I had got a lot of candies 
for the children. We kept on through the second 
street beyond the market, over the stone bridge. 
Here we both got into the cart, and so rode to the 
spot that had long been to this humble family a 
home. Entering, I found the " old woman " ac- 
tive, and rather too sharp for me in wit. Some 
of them hinted that perhaps I might have a wife. 
She caught it up. 

" Faith, and he'll be having several of them. 
Do you think that a young gentleman like him 
would be after travelling alone ? " 

Everything inside was neat and in order, a 
bright turf tire burning on the hearth. I noticed 
a short whispered conversation between the old 
folks, then it was suggested, if I was going on 



164: THE YAE^KEE BOY 

to see tlie otlier brother I would best start. We 
went tbrougli the turf fields, and I was to report 
that the turf was all cut up to Jim Queen's old 
place. Well, we kept on by this, over the bogs, 
till we came to where the younger brother lived ; 
another small place with a number of acres of 
land about it, which, after the custom here, he 
rented from year to year. Here, too, the hut 
looked more comfortable inside than I had sup- 
posed them to, but they are very small. There 
were four little girls very ready to receive their 
share of the candies. The younger brother was 
fully as much pleased as the other to see me, and 
hear about the friends on the other side ; but he 
was disappointed that I knew nothing of !N"ew 
Orleans, where he had a daughter from whom he 
liad not heard now since the war. "We must have 
talked here near an hour. Evidently both brothers, 
for this country, were doing well. I left this one 
standing by the oatfield hedge, and watching us a 
long way across the fields. When we got back 
to the first house, I saw tliere had been active 
times in our absence ; on the table, near the turf 
fire, was a large plate of pancakes, with some 
hot rolls. Margaret, the daughter that had re- 
turned from Long Island, was in, and appeared a 
very tidy young woman. She thought she should 
return with her husband as soon as the war was 
over. The supper through, they insisted on hitch- 
ing up the pony ; in the cart I rode back to the 
hotel. 



FROM HOME. 166 



XVI. 



DiTBLiN, August 16, 1862, 



" 'Tis pleasant to think that where'er -we rove, 

We shall always find something blissful and dear ; 
And when we are far from lips that we love, 

"We Lave but to make love to lips that are near." 

The day lias been very pleasant. I've im- 
proved it by making, witli an Irisb gentleman I 
met here at a hotel, a trip down the Dublin 
liarbor to Kingstown, and tlience to the United 
States gunboat Tuscarora, tliat lias been appear- 
ing in print, on this side, since last fall, Avlien she 
was watcbing the ^Nashville. Lately she has be- 
come again conspicuous in looking after the 290, 
and is, too, again unsuccessful. They intend, so 
they told us, sailing from here to-night. We had 
to-day a fine ride down the bay, and landing, went 
directly by small boat, with a dozen others, to the 
steamer. This lies about a mile from the shore, 
and is being visited by a great number of pleasure 
parties. There were half a dozen small boats wait- 
ing near her when we came, Avhilst persons they 
had brouglit looked the vessel over. Everything 
on the ship was of course thoroughly in order. 



166 THE YANKEE BOY 

The ship itself, though only wood and not the 
best of such, reflects with credit American ability. 
The flag hung from the stern. An American girl 
that came on board the other day walked under it, 
exclaiming, 
9 " Thank God, I am under my flag again." 

I hardly walked there myself, but I jumped 
into the vessel as I would into our kitchen at 
home, for I knew the little ship was mine. Tlie 
Doctor, who guided our party, was a young chap 
from Philadelphia. He called, and introduced to 
me, a midshipman from Vermont. He was about 
my own age, and knew many persons that I knew. 
All the midshipmen were much pleased with 
Irish girls, several of whom, very pretty, were at 
the time promenading the deck ; and this suggests 
to me Killarney, with the Irish girl I left behind 
me. I left her last night, with her aunt, in the 
cars for Limerick. She supposed we shouldn't ever 
meet again, and I supposed she would long re- 
member Innisfallen, its ruins and its whispers. 
Under the circumstances I could not have been 
disappointed in Killarney. When Helena was 
handsome the lakes must have been so. Every- 
thing about them got tinged with her charming- 
ness. But I got to Killarney Saturday night, and 
I did not see Helena till Tuesday morning. The 
fact is, after Tuesday morning I did not see any- 
thing else — but before. 

Killarney is neither well nor badly built for a 



FEOM HOME. 167 

small town. It lias three long streets with a great 
number of shops. Its streets are busy with guides, 
and vans, and horses to let. Then there are many 
small stands with poor fruit for sale, and groups 
of ragged childi'en gathered at times about some 
wandering minstrel. I stopped at a private 
boarding house. Sunday I attended church at a 
Methodist chapel, where there were not more than 
a dozen folk ; after this I went into the Episcopal 
chapel, which was well filled. Monday, unable to 
find a comrade, I engaged a boat with boatmen to 
row me through the lake, completing the visit, as 
customary, by visiting the Gap of Dunlop. I had 
my first view of the lower lake from the top of 
Ross Castle, that lies at the Killarney extremity. 
The islands, all wooded, group in finely, and with 
the varied shores threw so much life into the pic- 
ture, that you would think yourself looking at 
Kate Kearney herself. The upj)er lake is much 
smaller, almost narrow enough to be called a river. 
It has the same mixture of islands, with far 
more mountainous and desolate surroundings. It 
too has the same charm of vitality. The middle 
lake is very diff'erent, a single large, unbroken 
stretch of water, with, for one shore, a mountain ; 
an island, and stone bridge, and low slopes of rock 
and land for the others. To me it was more 
beautiful than the other two, just as a blonde is 
more beautiful than a brunette. The bits of 
rivers that connect the lakes, and the stone bridges 



168 THE YANKEE BOY 

that span the rivers, I ought to mention, for they 
add very much to the beauty of the whole. The 
stream, between the upper and the middle lakes, 
is some four miles long, and has one quite swift 
rapid under a bridge. In going, the boats, land- 
ing their passengers, are pulled by. In returning, 
you may stay in and be borne safely down. When 
we returned, a very well-dressed j)arty stood upon 
the stone arch to w^atch our descent. There come& 
always the same effect — I noticed the girls were 
the prettiest I had ever seen. The Gap of Dun- 
lop may be said to be noted for its goat's milk ; 
no less than six demoiselles passing their lives 
there in retailing it. It was here, too, that I 
bought a couple of crochet collars, because I 
couldn't help myself. 

Of the ride I took Tuesday, I should add a 
word more. We went some twelve miles, stop- 
ping at the Muckross Abbey, one of the finest 
ruins I have met this side. It was here I wreath- 
ed Lena's hat with ivy, the abbey had already 
been wreathed with the same. Leaving the abbey, 
we had on our route some exquisite views of the 
lake, as well as some very perfect brushwood rid- 
ing. But when we came under Magerton moun- 
tain, I could have thought myself riding from In- 
terlaken to the Jungfrau ; the mountain itself was 
so very high, in the mist ; the mountain scenery 
so very j^erfect. The Irish scenery, and this would 
apply to the whole of Ireland, is far more as nature 



FROM HOME. 169 

designed it than the English, or the Scotch, or the 
Continentah That is, the country is less highly 
cultivated^ There are more briers and brambles. 
Unfortunately this is too true. There are no 
pleasant farmhouses, neat gardens, and well- 
drained fields, interspersed. Poverty meets you 
everywhere, and true to itself, when it moves, it 
is clothed in rags. 

But to keep on by that mountain with its 
briers and thistles. We made another stop at the 
Tore waterfall, a fine fall of a fine stream, that 
comes down the mountain, and is here, as it 
should be, veiled with woods. From an open 
spot above these falls w^e had our best view, of 
the whole of the lower lakes, and their islands ; 
hills lie beyond, and low mountains on the 
horizon. 

Killarney no longer. I have left it in the 
wake as I did that golden l^ame upon the fickle 
sand, — Molly Tribune. 

Wednesday^ Aug. 20. — Again at Dublin, after 
two days' jaunt into the county Wicklow. Mon- 
day morning, by an excursion train, I went to 
Bray. Bray is a village, flourishing from its 
nearness to Dublin. I noticed two very large 
stone hotels. There must have been four or five 
hundred people on our excursion train. I stood 
in the depot and watched them pass out, to sej)a- 
rate into groups for a day's tramp into the coun- 
try. Many were young, and some old ; the 
8 



170 THE YANKEE BOY 

girls dressed airily for a hot sunny day. "When 
nearly all had laughed by me I followed along up 
the dusty road. A half mile Yv^alk brought me 
to the post-office, where I threw in for home a 
Macmillan's Magazine, with a very handsomely 
written article from its American correspondent. 
There, too, I got the direction, and kept on by the 
Dargle river to Enni skerry. The day was one of 
the few choice ones we have had, and the sun hot 
enough to give the blackberry bushes a sultry 
swing, and make the weeds wilt that grew near to 
the dusty road, or flourished on the banks of the 
river. At a very tolerable Irish hotel, at Ennis- 
kerry, I stopped for dinner. Whilst waiting, I 
reread the last letters from home, received at 
Dublin, and when I had sat down had company 
from several other gentlemen that came in. One 
of them proved to be going the same way I was. 
He was from Liverpool. We passed first to a 

pleasant waterfall there is here, in Lord H 's 

grounds. There were at the falls some hundred 
or more people, just finishing a bountiful picnic. 
I got a place on a high rock, under the fall, and 
watched the aifair work ; old folks disposed to 
group, young folks to ramble, though they con- 
fined themselves to the vicinity. One adven- 
turous young maid, with a handsome beau, per- 
sisted in walking on the boulders to the verge 
of the fall. 

Descending from the rock, I had some talk 



FEOM HOME. 171 

witli a number of gentlemen. Tliej told me that 
the week before a young man was killed, by 
falling, in trying to climb np the face of the rock. 
There had been three killed previously. The rock 
must be over a hundred feet and is nearly perpen- 
dicular. Once more on our road we had nine 
miles to Koundwood, a small village where we 
were to pass the night. '' Take the first hotel to 
the right on entering — comfortable and cozy tea." 
That was what my directions said, that I had fi'oni 
some Americans I met at Belfast. The tea went 
well with the raspberry jam. The next morning 
gave ns plain breakfast with eggs : bill four shil- 
lings each. To Glendalough, or the Seven 
Churches, from Roundwood, is about nine miles, 
with, as the day before, pleasant, highly cultivated 
valley scenery. Of course to make valleys there 
are mountains, and here, as in the Highlands, 
these are covered with heather, now beauteously 
in bloom. The vale of the Seven Churches is 
much like all the rest of these vales, unless in 
having two small ponds, and a very perfect 
old stone towei' — one of the watch-towers, for 
whatever purpose they were bnilt, that remain 
scattered throughout Ireland. I climbed up to 
the only opening there is, a sort of window some 
dozen feet from the ground. I could look in, and 
see that the tower w^as holloAV, with the walls 
smooth inside. They are built of coarse stone 
with mortar. I should judge this eighty feet 



172 THE YANKEE BOY 

high, and thirty feet in circumference at the 
base. 

At the hotel, where we dined, we met several 
agreeable travellers. There were an Irish gentle- 
man and his wife going thence to Killarnej. There 
was a Saxon-looking girl that passed several times 
rather quickly through the hall. There was an- 
other young girl in a party of three eating din- 
ner, that seemed to fancy I was looking at her, 
which I can honestly aver was a mistake (Fabord 
though a fact en suite. She passed us on the 
road afterward in a car ; we both involuntarily 
smiled. But, after all these had gone, there came 
a young man for his dinner, whose very handsome 
features, and warm blue eyes, touched a stronger 
chord of feeling with me than usually gets hit. 
Perhaps it was because he looked so very like* 
Katie Chamounix, so much so that I asked him if 
he had a sister, whom I could have met last year 
in Switzerland ; but he said no. 

From Glendalouffh to Rathdrum we had an- 
other nine mile walk, not to say anything about 
tlie rain. There were one or two very choice bits 
of scenery, but all these valleys are much the 
same and the vale of Avoca would be but another 
reflection of tliem. We did not go so far, but took 
the train from Rathdrum back to Dublin. 

Thursday afternoon. — I leave here this even- 
ing directly for Holyhead. I must consider Dub- 
lin one of the finest cities I have visited in 



FKOM HOME. 1Y3 

Europe. Last evening 1 went to its Park. The 
view from there pays well, as indeed it does from 
almost everywlici'c yr>ii strike. The County Wick- 
low mountains slio"\v from all points, and the bay 
I know must be, as it is said to be, one of the 
choicest in the world. Its complete beauty in- 
cludes the County Wicklow mountains, but, look- 
ed at so as to exclude them, that is when you face 
it toward the sea, it still would be almost un- 
rivalled. Dublin itself is principally built of 
brick ; in no part is it showy, though almost 
everywhere, where I have seen it, is respectably 
neat. The old Parliament House is an extensive' 
stone building, now used as the l^ational Bank. 
The University buildings, also of stone, stand close 
by, covering, with the grounds, a large space. The 
river Liffey cuts the city into two, and is crossed 
by numerous bridges, very much as the Seine at 
Paris, only toward its mouth it is unobstructed, 
and lined with shipping. The city by no means 
excels in a business view. Belfast is more active. 
There are, though, plenty of carriages and bustle 
in the centre streets, and many fashionable stores. 
On the whole Dublin is a good capital city, a large 
one, and a pleasant one. 



174: THE YANKEE BOY 



XVII. 

'Nine days in Wales ! Of what in tliem I either 
did or saw, I write, and, without apology, prefix 
a short liistorical cliapter. For this I am to a 
large extent indebted to a work, entitled " Welch 
Sketches," published in London, in the year 1853, 
and to a History of Wales, by the Rey. Mr. War- 
rington. 

Hoping, or, if yon please, affirming that it is 
tolerably reliable, we proceed. 

'• The Athenians asserted that their forefathers 
sprang from the soil of Attica. And, whether 
they did or not, the claim was simple, and straight- 
forward, and, once admitted, saved a world of 
trouble." The Welch, less wise, trace themselves 
higher, and of numerous opinions the most popular 
is, that by the successive movements of the Asiatic 
tribes westward, the Isle of Britain, till then un- 
inhabited, was finally reached, and that the tribe 
thus first settling here was of those called the Cijn- 
bric. There is another theory, also well sus- 



FEOM HOME. 175 

tained, that the Gael preceded tlie Cimbri, and 
were afterward driven by them into the High- 
lands of Scotland, and the near islands of Ireland, 
Man, and the Hebrides. 

Xow of the history of these Cimbri ; for, wlie- 
ther they were preceded by the Gael or not, all 
admit that they came and occupied the English 
and Welch part of Great Britain. 

The earliest authentic history we have, is of 
one Dyenwal Moehnud, who lived b. c. Ml, and 
is styled in the Triads, " one of the three national 
pillars of the Isle of Britain," because " he re- 
duced to a system the laws, customs, maxims, and 
privileges, appertaining to a country and nation." 
Among his laws he says : " There are three things 
which strengthen the tranquillity of the neigh- 
boring country — equal privileges, a common form 
of government, and the science of wisdom, under 
the mutual protection of the neighboring country, 
emanating from union and national right." This 
alone would give a favorable idea of the civili- 
zation of the Cimbri in this most distant period. 
Between the date of this king and the conquest of 
Britain by the Bomans, but little reliable is known ; 
though it would appear, that the inhabitants were 
divided into petty tribes among themselves, with 
to each tribe a separate chieftain ; that when the 
Romans made tlieir incursion, they joined together 
to resist them ; but, as we knov\^, were finally 
obliged to yield to the persevering power of Caesar, 



176 THE YAITKEE BOY 

B. c. 64: — all excepting those who preferred to 
live among, or now prepared to banish themselves 
to the mountainous defiles of Cambria. And here, 
j)erhaps, the separate Welch history may be said 
to have commenced ; for although, in the more 
than four hundred years that the Koman power re- 
mained dominant in Britain, Wales became in a 
great part subdued, and several fortresses were 
built within its bounds, still the more difficult re- 
gions of the momitainous country remained ever in 
the possession of the roving Welchmen, who many 
times desolated the Roman frontier, the same as 
the Picts and Scots did from the northern Gram- 
pian Hills. To the numerous contests that contin- 
ued between these two distinct races, to the bra- 
very, cruelty, or success of the Saxons, we can but 
allude, in passing on, to that hero of British heroes, 
the great and chivalrous Arthur. 

Arthur was a son of the prince of the Silusian 
Britons, whose country is now a part of South 
Wales. His father had been chosen the head of a 
confederacy of British chiefs against the Saxons. 
Upon his death, Arthur was, by common voice, 
elected his successor, and was crowned at Carleon, 
A. D. 517. Arthur fought the Saxons, under Ce- 
dric, twelve times. At the last battle, near Bath, 
he gained a decisive victory, so as to be able to de- 
clare his own terms of peace. There were three 
fair ladies in King Arthur's court ; so the Triads 
say. Alas, that ladies fair are often inconstant ! 



FROM HOME. 177 

In this case, it might have been against her will, 
but we read : " One wife was carried off by Melva, 
king of Somersetshire, to Glastonbury. Arthur 
collected his friends from Cornwall and Devon- 
shire to the rescue. To avert bloodshed, the cler- 
gy interposed. Their counsels were respectfully 
listened to and followed ; Melva restored, and Ar- 
thur received the abducted queen ; and so pleased 
were both kings with the resnlt, that they liberally 
rewarded the monks of Glastonbury for their op- 
portune interference." Some time after this fortu- 
nate restoration, Melrod, only son of Artlmr's sis- 
i:er Anna, left as regent alone with, won the af- 
fections of the queen, and passed with her — most 
wrongfully we protest — a luckless night ; he then 
joined himself, with the faction he controlled, to 
the Saxons, and against his nncle. In a battle 
that followed, Arthur was killed, a. d. 542. 

With Arthur's death the British power yield- 
ed more and more rapidly to the Saxons, nntil it 
became wholly confined to the mountainous coun- 
try of Wales, and the neighboring region that lies 
between the Wye and the Severn. During the 
centuries that followed, this district was divided 
into six principalities, imder one king, who held 
the chief authority. But in the year 843, Eoderic 
the Great succeeded to the sovereignty, and he di- 
vided the kingdom into three parts, l^orth and 
South Wales and Penrys. These, during his life, 
were ruled by princes under him ; at his death, 
8* 



178 THE Y^VNKEE BOY 

the J went to bis sods separately. Internal war 
between tlie new kingdoms naturally followed, un- 
til the year 94:0, when they were again united, un- 
der Howell the Good. As the title would imply, 
this king became renowned, not as a soldier, but 
as a lawgiver. During his reigii he devoted him- 
self, and with marked success, to the improvement 
of the civilization and comfort of his nation. He 
died A. D. 948. 

Of the numerous kings after Howell, we read 
of Gryffyd-ap Lly welyn, who began to reign a. d. 
1027, and in three successive campaigns defeated 
the English and the Danes. His after reign was 
a continued war, and, from 1037 to 1055, a contin- 
ued success. In 1069, Edward the Confessor gath- 
ered his whole force to subdue the Welch. The 
army, led by Harold, was irresistible. Lly welyn 
was forced to sue for peace at Edward's terms, and 
he paid the tribute which the English kings had 
long claimed, but only by the force of arms suc- 
ceeded in obtaining. 

At the time of "William the Conqueror, the 
Welch princes, awed by his name, submitted with- 
out resistance to pay him homage, and take the 
oath of allegiance. But the nationality of the 
Cimbri was destined to have one more great de- 
fender, Llywelyn ap Jo^weth, grandson of Owain 
Grynedd, king of North Wales. This man, known 
as Llywelyn the Great, so much sung by Welch 
bards, so much esteemed by Welch people, became 



FUOM HOME. 179 

king A. D. 1194 ; and in his long reign of forty- 
six years, upheld faithfully the honor and prosperi- 
ty of his nation. 

There remains the history of Llywelyn ap 
Gryffyd, the last acknowledged Welch king. Of 
them all none can claim a highicr respect. The 
grandchild of Llywelyn the Great, he commenced 
reigning alone about the year 1255. A man of 
peace, he desired peace above all ; but, a man of 
honor, he could not see the honor of his country 
invaded. He found himself forced into a contest 
with the English. For ten years this contest was 
maintained, and always, whilst the English were 
under Henry III, with success on the part of the 
Welch. At the end of this time, a treaty of peace 
was made between them. In 1271 Henry died. 
Edward I, upon being crowned, summoned Llyw- 
elyn to do him homage. His summons was neg- 
lected ; war followed, and Llywelyn, nov\r hard 
pressed by the ability of Edward, was forced to 
accept Edward's terms of peace. Severe enough 
terms, we read, these were. 

In the mean time, Llywelyn had fallen in love. 
His lady was Eleanor de Montford, daughter of 
the Earl of Leicester. They were betrothed, and 
were to have been married years before, but Elea- 
nor fell into Edward's powxr ; he detained her 
a prisoner in his court. Peace concluded, she w^as 
released. I fear the first blush of her cheek was 
gone. Never mind; her lover did not tliink so. 



180 THE YANKEE BOY 

They were married, and whilst she lived she re- 
strained Llywelyn's fiery temper. Alas ! the true 
girl, who had waited so long for her lover, died in 
childbed, two years after her marriage. The 
daughter, Catharine, lived. Llywelyn sought 
again the warrior's glory. He had cause enough. 
Since the hist peace insult had been added to in- 
sult, and the rights of his people trampled on by 
the English nobles. Edward, always vigorous, 
equipped a great army, and marched a second time 
into Wales. This was in the spring of 1282. 
Llywelyn skedaddled to the Snowden mountains ; 
but from there so well did he direct his attacks, 
that when fall came the skedaddlins; took a differ- 
ent direction. Edward, with the remnants of his 
army, retreated, " gloomy and depressed." Once 
more against the fates we cry, Alas ! the end that 
might have been so gay, is told most sadly in a 
few words. December 12, 1282, Llywelyn was 
killed in a skirmish in South Wales. He died, 
and his nation died with him. Against the great 
army of Edward, that came again the next sum- 
mer, there was no leader. Wales, easily conquer- 
ed, was now annexed to England ; to rivet his 
power, Edward built in different places, and gar- 
risoned, several strong fortresses. Then craftily 
he sent his queen, Eleanor, whilst enceinte, to one 
of these new castles, at Caernarvon, and the babe 
there born (Edward of Caernarvon) he offered to 
the Welch as the new Prince of Wales. Hence 



FROM HOME. 181 

originated the title of the Prince of Wales, as ap- 
plied to the first son of the rojal family. 

To close here wonld make our paragraph as in- 
complete as a girl's love letter without a postscript. 

" Thou dost belie him, Percy ; thou dost belie him ; 
He never did encounter with Glendower ; 
I tell thee, 

He durst as well have met the devil alone, 
As Owen Glendower for an enemy." 

Owen Glendyr, or, in English, Glendower, the 
last Prince of Wales, was born about the year 1353. 
As to the place of his birth, there is as much diffi- 
culty in settling it as Goldsmith's town pauper had 
in settling his. But that's all the same. He grew 
up somewhere, a comely youth, fond of poetry, and 
fond of the ladies ; we find him a young man inti- 
mately connected with the Poyal Court at London. 
During this time his profession was that of a lawyer. 
To the day of his death he might have been a law- 
yer still, had not private injury aroused the fiery 
temper within him. Henry lY, meditating a pri- 
vate expedition against the Scots, summoned Glen- 
dower, who was a crown tenant, to his assistance. 
Through the perfidy of Lord Grey de Ruthin, 
Owen did not receive the summons until too late 
to respond. The kiug, unmindful of the circum- 
stance, forfeited his estates, and gave them to his 
rival, the real oft'ender. Lord Grey de Kuthin. 
But when Lord Grey attempted to take possession, 
Glendower, with his tenants and friends, armed 



182 THE TA^'KEE BOY 

for tlie occasion, met him ; both driving him oft' 
and ravaging his own domains. 

These dithculties occurred in the spring and 
smnmer of 1400. On the 19th of September fol- 
lowing, the king issued a proclamation, to gather 
an army against Owen Glendower and the Welch- 
men that supported him. Owen Glendower im- 
mediately proclaimed himself the rightful Prince 
'of "Wales, descended bv his mother Helena — a very 
pretty name, that — from Catharine, only daughter 
of the last Llvwelvn ; and, with the visror that al- 
ways marked the man, he prepared directly, both 
to defend his old property and his new title. How 
strong their old an|:ipathies to the Saxons, and love 
of their old nationality, still existed in the souls of 
Welchmen, we can see ; for, no sooner had one of 
their own chieftains boldly offered himself as their 
leader, than there flocked about his standard '' the 
farmer from the p»lough, the student from his 
books, tlie artisan from his anvil.'- The history 
of the contest that followed we have no time to 
ffive. It lasted sixteen vears, until the death of 
Owen : durino; that time armv after army of the 
English were defeated, and driven back. 

Owen Glendower, still unconquered, died Sep- 
tember 20, 1416. AVe close, as we commenced, 
with a quotation : 

^' Peace, Owen Glendyr did not, and could not, 
give to his distracted country ; but he left her an 
example to all time, of simple, honest, incorrupt- 



FrcO:M HOME. 183 

ible patriotism. . . . Scotland glories in lier Wal- 
lace; Switzeriand, in her William Tell. Wales 
will not shrink from the comparison : she points, 
with a glow of honorable pride, to her Owen Glen- 
djr, and his true compatriots." 

" Tlie vision of beauty and of glory passed, 
Wales awoke from her dream of independence, 
again to kiss the hand that smote her. Liberty 
and loyalty are the two great master principles in 
the minds of this heroic people ; to bear unchal- 
lenged the title of ' Prince of Wales,' was enough 
to win enduring affection, and command unswerv- 
ing obedience. Three quarters of a century passed 
into the gulf of time, and Wales had her reward : 
she conquered her conquerors. From the loins of 
Owen Tudor, of a royal tribe, came a line of sov- 
ereigns who, for a hundred years or more, wielded 
the British sceptre. Within that period moment- 
ous changes were wrought, great deeds were done. 
To Sir Khys ap Thomas, and the Abbot of Tayle, 
Henry YII owed his crown. Henry YHI ap- 
pears in the most favorable light, when viewed 
from the Cambrian side ; to a spirited appeal from 
the Welch nation, he feelingly and liberally re- 
sponded, by causing an act of Parliament to be 
passed, incorporating Wales with England, and 
putting the natives of the principality on^n equal 
footing with his English subjects. Edward Tudor 
and Elizabeth Tudor advanced and completed the 
work of the Peformation, To Marv Tudor belono^s 



184 



THE YANKEE BOY 



tlie praise of having songlit to heal the breach, and 
restore broken unity; though merciless was the 
spirit in which the attempt was made, and, conse- 
quently, fruitless the issue. In our present most 
gracious Queen, Welchmen proudly recognize the 
lineal representative of the royal blood of the 
Cymry, through Gladwys, sole daughter of Llyw- 
elyn the Great, united to the heir of the house of 
Mortimer." — Welch Sketches, Zd Series, page 97. 



moM ho:me. 185 



XVIII. 

Bangoe, North Wales, August 23, 1862. 

When we sailed last night from Dublin, I had 
little idea how, or where, I should go after reach- 
ing Holyhead. We were from nine o'clock till 
three in the morning. There was little to be seen 
except the lights and lighthouses, as we left, and 
the very brilliant light from the Holyhead light- 
house, as we entered the harbor. This last varies 
all the while, going out, and brightening again, 
till it pains the eyes like the sun to look at it. 
We landed, as I said, at three o'clock. I took 
the first hotel I came to, and went to bed, sleep- 
ing late in the morning. Breakfast over, I saw 
the first thing to be done was to go on a hill 
near Holyhead, that gives a complete view of the 
whole coast and country about. The day was 
beautifully clear for this climate, though not equal 
to those we used to have in Touraine. The hill 
was but a mile and a half's walk ; it gave me the 
wdiole of the island county of Anglesey, a large 
flat district, bounded some thirty miles off by the 



186 THE YANKEE BOY 

"Welch, mountains, that do not look nnlike the 
Green Mountains of Yermont. Down from the 
hill, in time for the six o'clock train, an hour's ride 
brings me through the fertile fields of Anglesey, 
oyer the tubular bridge of Menai Straits to Ban- 
gor. 

" "Which is the best Temperance Hotel ? " 
I asked a policeman at the old depot, whose face 
was a fine sample of Saxon honesty. He said 
there were several, but they were all equally good, 
and all just below near the station. I took the 
second, and am writing in it now. It is every 
way comfortable. There is a richness in the fur- 
niture suggestive of first-class prices, but I've no 
fear of anything imreasonable. Our English 
friends, though they have not so fair a climate, 
have more honesty — I am not sj)eaking now polit- 
ically — than the French. To-day has been most 
beautiful. Finding myself on a bit of a stroll this 
morning, to be on the line of a more extensive one 
often made from here, I crossed the Menai Straits, 
at Grath Ferry, and kept on to Beaumaris, a small, 
more or less fashionable summer resort, that com- 
mands a fine view of the Beaumaris Bay and the 
Menai Straits, with the rocky, and almost moun- 
tainous coast on each side. Returning on the 
same side of the straits, about five miles, to the 
suspension bridge, I reci'ossed here, with three 
miles more back to Bangor. The whole distance 
there are fine houses, that might remind one of 



FROM HOME. 187 

the banks of tlie Hudson, a few miles above "New 
York. 

Cakxaevon, Sunday evening. 

Private lodgings witli a very excellent Welch 
woman and " lier man ; " both of them at least sixty- 
five. The old lady has a sister in Philadelphia, who, 
she says, is as full of patriotism as a young volunteer. 
I got here last night at ten, and came to these 
lodgings, recommended from the Temperance Ho- 
tel at Bangor. Tlie city I find old, packed together 
in a lump, with the castle walls, almost entire, 
commanding it. There was plenty of bustle in 
the streets last night. To-day I have attended two 
"Welch services ; in the morning at the Methodist 
chapel ; in the afternoon in a tent, now raised 
within the old castle walls, for the Eisteddfod, 
that takes place here this week. The Methodist 
church is a large squarish building — a sort of box 
chicken-coop inside, with a roosting-place for the 
pastor. It was remarkably welt filled for so lai'ge 
a building. Of course I could understand nothing, 
all being in the Welch language, but I noticed of 
the singing that it was very good. The tunes were 
minor, sung by the whole congregation ; but the 
chords were finely struck. This afternoon there 
was a large crowd at the tent ; the services also in 
Welch. I had intended going to an English ser- 
vice this evening, but finding on the table here a 
little book of Mary Hewitt's, it detained me. 
Since finishing this " Love and Monej^," I have 



188 THE YANKEE EOT 

been looking over another, " Woman's Mission," 
but no antliorsliip given. 

This noon I took a small walk on the height 
above the town. From it yon again see tlie flat 
island of Anglesey, now over the river to the 
west ; on the other side, within eight miles, is the 
Snowden range of mountains, the loftiest of all in 
Wales ; but after having viewed the Alps, or even 
the Scotch Highlands, they do not look very fear- 
ful. Snowden itself is 3,571 feet high. There is a 
very pleasing extent of rolling upland between us 
and the mountains. The Snowden valley, too, 
makes a pretty gap. 

I have been down to inquire about my route 
to-morrow. The good woman and her man are 
reading their Welch Bible. They are both of 
them excellent Methodists, and were quite anxious 
to-day to arrange my meals so that the girl could 
go to meeting. It is a comfort to get among such 
j)eople, though the home-made bread is unnecessa- 
rily heavy. To write more or not ? That's the ques- 
tion. " Shall we go, Lena ? " I asked, as we sat 
alone together under a tree on sweet Innisfallen. 

" Yes ! — no we won't either ; we won't go, only 
when the rest come in sight you take your arm 
away." 

" Oh ! my Nora Creena dear, 
My gentle, bashful Nora Creena." 

Monday evening. — I thought this morning of 
writing home for some one to go on Snowden 



FEOM HOME. 189 

with me to-claj. The Eisteddfod doesn't com- 
mence till to-moiTow ; hence to-day was to be 
planned for, and I took a return ticket for the 
hotel nnder Snowden. The day bade fine, so 
arriving I had some sandwiches built, and struck 
directly up the path for the summit. The little 
Welch youngsters declared, " It would be impossi- 
ble, sir, without a guide, sir ; " but the five frank 
guide, that I j)ulled up the Jura mountains, in 
Switzerland, has guided me ever since. To-day I 
gave a little hero a penny-ha'-penny to start me 
right, another ha'-penny to a young heroine, for 
courtesying d la mode, and there, aside from sand- 
wiches, the expense ended. Both my spyglass 
and myself in our travels have learned how to 
climb. To-day we went by a party of four, all 
men ; then a Welch couple, man and wife prob- 
ably. Passing these there was a long gap to 
another pair, and further on still a mule party 
were going, as the snail did, slow but sure. We 
hardly intended to overtake the -mules. The spy- 
glass knew they were a long way ahead ; but the 
girl — surely we could do that. Fifteen minutes 
and half an hour went by. By George ! that girl 
was like the phantom shijD — never the nearer. Up, 
up she went, not a bit of rest. 

" It's now or never," said the spyglass, as Ave 
came to the steepest climb. " If she reaches yonder 
rock first, we shan't see her again." 

" And if we never see any girl again, we 



190 THE YANKEE BOY 

couldn't throw another inch into an honr, up this 
rock." 

" She wavers," cried tlie spyglass. " See I she 
wavers ! Hurrah, we'll have her now, the hussy 
— ankles and a'." She looks at us, and she goes 
again. ISTo ! you don't do it, my beauty, you 
can't do it ! Yous etes trop fatiguee^ et fen suis 
tien content. The spyglass was right ; the girl 
faltered more and more, and then she stopped. 
She stopped, and we went by shouting victory. 

And the wind blew on the top so that all the 
girls made short stays. (No pun intended.) The 
day was fair, the near view good, giving us an ex- 
cellent impression of the mountains of l^orth 
Wales ; and adding to its beauty, with the exten- 
sive plains of the Anglesey island, as "well as with 
the ocean, or the valleys more near. The little 
lake shows well in the valley of Llanberis ; and, 
when going up or coming down, you see dug out, 
some two thirds up the opposite mountains, the 
slate quarries. 

The spyglass says it did not try much ; but let 
the truth be told, that girl beat us coming down. 
For half a mile we saw her jump like a deer ; (as 
she was — a pun intended.) She had a fine, frank, 
merry face, and took it well when I told her she 
was about the best walker I ever met. " How do 
you do again \ " said she, when I met her after- 
ward at the hotel. " We beat you coming down." 
The drive to, and that back from Llanberis, 



FEOM HOME. 191 

for my return ticket gave me tlie same, ^^as 
among tlie j^leasantest of all the British scenery I 
have seen. The cottages on the hill sides m.ade 
me think of Switzerland. They are of stone here 
and wood there; never mind— in the distance 
tliey look alike. Then of the villages we went 
throngh, or the little houses on the road that we 
passed, almost all — though so small, many of them 
with not more than two rooms — were so neat and 
home-like, it was a comfort to be near them. 

Wednesday, August 2T. — I am yet here at 
Carnarvon. Yesterday I attended all day the 
^' Eisteddfod," and get a very complete idea of 
its working. The succeeding days are substan- 
tially a repetition of the first. A word of diver- 
gence upon the history of the Eisteddfod. 

The Eisteddfod simply means a session of bards 
and minstrels. It arose naturally from the old 
druidical customs, and would seem, at the decline 
of " Druidism," to have taken the place of the 
^' Gorsedd." Pox3ularly, King Arthur is said to have 
originated the " Eisteddfod ; " after him, there 
are numberless sessions on record, from a. d. 540, 
under the "Welch Prince MaelgwD, to those in 
1524 and 1567, under the immediate auspices of 
Henry YIII and Queen Elizabeth. The first of 
these spoken of was held at Conway, the two last 
at Caerwys. " Several Eisteddfodau w^ere held in 
South "Wales during the seventeenth century. The 
muses were to a great extent dormant from that 



192 THE YANKEE BOY 

time to the close of the eighteenth century, when 
Eisteddfodau were revived, and have since been 
held, with considerable success, in almost every 
Welch town, in turn, and in Liverpool and Lon- 
don. They have now become annual, movable 
festivals, and have arrived at a high degree of 
popularity." — Ca/rnarvon Herald^ Aug. 30. 

It may surprise some of my readers, as much 
as it did me, to fiud that here, all through Wales, 
the people have retained so thoroughly their lan- 
guage, not only talking it, but having a large 
amount of literature written in it. They are, too, 
all the while zealously striving to perpetuate 
what they have, and to increase it. To do this, 
the national convention, or Eisteddfod, is well 
adapted ; and for doing it it is well sustained. 
Liberal prizes are offered, varying in value from 
one to sixty guineas, for the best compositions (in 
Welch) in prose, poetry, and music ; and also 
there are prizes for success in various objects of 
art. The highest prize of sixty guineas was this 
year for the best essay treating on Welch litera- 
ture. Another large prize was for the best essay 
on the best mode of teachine^ the Ens^lish lano:ua2:e 
to Welch children, in day schools. The chairman 
of the committee prefaced his award with his own 
ideas upon the point. These were, that the true 
way, and only way, was to teach them English 
through the Welch ; for, he clairaed, Welch chil- 
dren could never feel the inspiration necessary to 



FKOM HOME. 193 

successful learning, unless talked to and instructed 
in tlieir own language. This does not by any 
means imply any present dislike toward the Eng- 
lish nation ; far less any desire, supposing it could 
possibly be done, to disunite themselves from Great 
Britain. There is doubtless not the slightest of 
any such feeling existing by itself. There may be 
some of the same jealousy that you find so strong 
in the Highlands, and in all Scotland ; but it is 
very much modified. Of the Celtic hatred of the 
Saxons, that pervades so large a part of Ireland, 
there is none. Is it not curious then, that wdiilst 
the Welch retain so pertinaciously their old cus- 
toms and language, the Irish should allow theirs 
to be, as they are fast being, irrecoverably lost in 
the English ? 

Of the exercises yesterday, more than two thirds 
being in Welch, I could understand only their pur- 
port. The large tent within the castle wall was 
well filled ; every age well represented. The 
evening concert commenced about six. The '' art- 
ists " were all Welch professional musicians, well 
known throughout the kingdom. A large pro- 
portion of the songs were Welch songs, sever- 
al of them national airs ; these, almost without 
exception, were plaintive, either written in minor 
keys, or abounding in minor chords. Several of 
them were beautiful. Of the " artists, ^^ two old 
harpists, with gray hair and trembling voices, that 
sang in the morning, pleased me as much as any. 
9 



194 THE YANKEE BOY 

There wasn't any attempt in their singing ; both 
inlirm and old, they conld hardly have made it. 
They sang because, from love of mnsic, they had al- 
ways sung ; singing thus, of course they sang well. 
In the evening, of four female singers, two sang 
well, two poorly. The males did not excel sepa- 
rately, but the choruses were all line. 

Maentwkog, Sunday evening. 

It was a beautiful night last night, as well as it 
had been a beautiful day. I intended coming 
here; but in coming down hill with the twi- 
light, found myself squarely met by a large hotel 
of stone, handsomely built, and partly concealed 
by ivy. It suggested ease, and made me feel a 
desire to see what was in it. So I went in, and 
called for tea. The coifee room was large and 
handsome. In it were an Englishman and his 
wife, and a little girl, a Times^ tvNro days old, and 
a Liverpool paper of the day before. Then, as I 
sat down to my supper, there came a young man 
and woman to theirs ; afterward four more men — 
gentlemen, if you like — of the travelling world. 
I am sorry to say the ladies left, but with the 
rest conversation grew brisk, so that when I rose 
from my suj)per and regained the road, the stars 
above were brightly beaming. 

I left Carnarvon at half past six Wednesday af- 
ternoon. In a sultry, smoky evening, I walked on 
about eight miles, passing through another Welch 



FEOM HOME. 195 

village, and by numbers of those neatly-white- 
washed stone farmhonses. To almost all of these 
there are little yards, and with the warm night 
the doors of most being open, I conld see in. In 
all there was against the farther side a large side- 
board, of light-colored wood, the low part given 
to draw^ers, the upper to shelves, which w^ere fill- 
ed with crockery. The order, arrangement, and 
neatness of these showed, on a smaller scale to be 
sure, the same sort of nice housewifery, that keeps 
the kitchen floors of New England farmhouses so 
clean. I am thinking as I write of one of those 
where I used to go for apples when a boy. It 
stands upon a long high ledge, with grain fields 
upon one side, and a wood — such a one as you can 
only find in America — covering the other. The 
whole height comes up to me now as I found it 
when I hunted for squirrels ; so in the glorious au- 
tumn days when walnuts waited to be shook. The 
last time I was there I was on horseback. My trip 
over here was before me then ; my health poor, 
my desire to learn great. I wondered, I remem- 
ber it well, whether the first could sustain the 
last, or if the last would destroy the first — a ques- 
tion yet unsolved. 

I have a long walk laid out for to-day. The 
day itself is as fair as yesterday. Perhaps the 
walk may prove so ; but I doubt it. There was 
m.uch yesterday that was very beautiful, a combi- 
nation of valley and rock that pleased nearly all 



196 THE YAITKEE BOY 

tlie while. Late already, I must close to make my 

start. 

Sunday evening, at Bets-y-coed. 

Being somewliat pressed for time, I shall be 
obliged to abridge somewliat my Welch tour. I 
hate to leave these beautiful valleys. The one 1 
am in now is the Yale of Conway. Of the Yale of 
Ffestiniog Mr. Lyttleton wrote : '' With the wo- 
man one loves, with the friend of one's heart, and 
with a good study of books, one might pass an age 
in this vale, and think it a day." But however 
fine Ffestiniog seems, it cannot equal this, as it 
came before me yesterday, from the hill above — 
mountain, rock, vale, and river, with green fields 
to soften and trees to deck them. Why ! with the 
girl I love — but she does not exist. 

Settling with Mary Ann yesterday, who talked 
her English in the same rich tones that all these 
Welch girls do, I walked on up the vale to Ffes- 
tiniog, and three miles by this village, to where 
the road turns from the Bala one, going to the left. 
A small public house below the road ofi'ered, per- 
haps, the only chance for a lunch. I entered, and 
asked for fresh milk. There was none. However, 
I got bread and butter, both good, and with them 
some excellent spring water. Turning to the left, 
which was by a by-road, I came out to hills very 
like the Highlands, or perhaps still more like the 
Northumberland moors. All that were in sicfht 
now were rocky mountains, with large plains of 



FKOM HOME. 197 

bog and coarse grass lying under them. Some of 
the distant hills, as the light struck them, were 
purpled with the hell heather. Perhaps at two 
miles from the turn v/as another public house. 
Here I found milk. Both of these public houses 
were about equal to the poorer class among the 
Highlands. The food you get is eatable ; the cloth 
spread on the table clean ; but the old stone floor- 
ing wretchedly in want of sweeping, and the whole 
house of cleaning — their business, and not mine. 
I enjoyed the milk. 

Here again I turned to the left, and now my 
road was hardly more than a footpath, winding 
under a stony mountain, where poor sheep were 
getting scanty feed. In half a mile a brook began 
to start ; a vale opened that it was to go through. 
The vale emptied into a valley, where was a broad 
road ; I might have come on all the way, had 
I turned quick enough. At a little village in the 
valley there was a large number of people, sej^ara- 
ting from attending a Methodist meeting. The 
Celtic countenance was very marked ; several that 
I addressed could not understand a word of 
English. I entered a store here, to examine the 
wooden shoes that are worn almost altogether by 
the children. Bordering the sole, which is entirely 
of wood, is a narrow iron rim. The toes are 
tipped with brass. The price of the pair I saw 
was two shillings and threepence. They were made 
at Manchester for the Welch market, and wear 



198 THE YANKEE BOY 

exceedingly well. The tops of them were coarse 
leather. Wooden brogans, all wood, I knew 
intimately in France. — There was nothing further 
of interest nntil I came to the hill I spoke of. 
Here was another inn, a plain Welch inn. I 
went in, and ordered tea of a ruddy-cheeked 
girl. She showed me from the kitchen to the 
room at the side of it, not large but carpeted, and 
trimmed, a la Welch custom, with all kinds of 
pictures. Tea finished, I paid a shilling, looking 
over the kitchen whilst I settled. There was the 
usual sideboard, with drawers below and shelves 
above. On the upper shelf, platters leaned in 
rows, on the lower ones, plates ; tumblers and 
cups thrown in the foreground. Then, let me see ! 
there was a very large old fire place, where the 
fire was dying that had cooked my tea. A man- 
tel was above, as with us, and two benches 
branching ofi" each side, with a very nice pussy 
monopolizing one of them. An old-fashioned 
high clock, the indispensable comrade here to a. 
chest of dishes, filled up the corner. 

When I left the inn I went down the hill ; I 
crossed a bridge ; I passed a big hotel ; came to 
the village, and stopped for the night at another 
inn, very much like the one I have just described. 

Chester, Monday. 

To come from Bets-y-coed to Chester, you come 
five miles by foot, or by stage, as you like, through 



FEOM HOME. 199 

tlie Yale of Conway, to Conway. The route soon 
leaves much of its more monntainous character, 
and extends itself in a line farming valley, sided 
with hills, and dotted with trees. Coming into 
Conway the old castle shows finely. When v/e 
came, there was a young girl near it, with some 
stray gold curls, that showed more finely yet. 
Conway to Chester I made by cars. The sea is 
on one side and a farming country on the other. 
Second class cars with us — no cushions on the 
seat ; Liverpool paper with news of McClellan's 
retreat, l^o poetry intended. 

Yesterday I passed here at Chester, one of the 
most curious old cities of England. Its walls are 
yet entire; you can walk upon them the whole 
round. The city is built almost wholly of brick. 
The buildings are in almost every conceivable 
shape and position. Some of the stores jut 
over the sidewalks, resting on pillars, as in the 
Italian cities ; and there are two long rows where 
the sidewalk itself is raised up several feet, with 
the body of the buildings projecting over, in the 
sams way. 

At the hotel here where I stop, I have made an 
agreeable travelling acquaintance with a gentleman 
from London and his son. I have found him one 
of the most decided supporters of the iN'orth, as 
regards our war, of any Englishmen I have met. 
He speaks enthusiastically of the amount of power 
we have already shown ; and, in spite of our 



200 THE YANKEE BOY 

evident mistakes, feels confident of our final success. 
His name is Mr. John Saunders. I found out 
incidentally tliat lie lias been for a long time, and 
still is, connected with tlie London press. He is, 
too, the author of a work entitled " Abel Drake's 
Wife," lately republished in America by Harper 
& Brothers. Judging from the conversation and 
appearance of the man, I should think the work 
might be well received by American readers. 



FEOM HOME. 201 



XIX. 

Private Lodgiags in Harrogate, North of England, 
September 26, 1S62. 

Harrogate isn't London. ]^ever mind ! I've 
been there, if I did not write from there ; and will 
tell a word about it, perhaps, before I finish. I 
am now lodged here for a number of weeks, I 
have reason to think with my usual good fortune ; 
only I am in danger of forgetting my name, for 
the good Yorkshire woman I am with gives it a 
twist at each address. She varies from Bathelly 
to Babcock ; anything that begins with B satisfies 
her idea, if not mine. 

London ! what shall I say about it ? Or, the 
Exhibition ; what shall I say about it ? I'll tell 
you, the Exhibition is a bore. All exhibitions 
are ; only as this is a very big exhibition, it re- 
solves itself into a very big bore. I looked it over 
one long day, and saw '^ such a many things," as 
they say here in Yorkshire. 

I should divide the Exhibition into three 
parts : first, the difierent courts, or depart- 
9* 



202 THE YANKEE BOY 

ments, assigned to each, nation, for tlie show of 
whatever they may bring. Then comes the pic- 
tm'e gallery above ; and after, the machinery de- 
partment below ; both of which are complete in 
themselves. Of the courts, I will speak of the 
two I looked at most— the French, and onr own. 

The French have, perhaps, the finest position 
set off to them, and have fitted it up with great 
taste. Here is all the show of fancy work that 
you see in the Boulevard windows at Paris. 
Glass ware and brazen ware, musical instruments 
and jewelry, silk goods and woollen goods, felt 
hats, &c., are spread about in their separate show 
cases, the same as in the Boulevards. Then there 
is one case of fine fruit, in which " La France " so 
much excels ; and above, in the gallery, a photo- 
graphic display, in which again '' La France " so 
much excels. 

Our own court has but little, very little, and 
yet the little speaks well for Yankee genius. The 
statues of America and the Greek slave, as well 
as Powers' California, that stands in another part 
of the building, are unquestionably among the 
finest of the statues; the same as our flag, in 
mere point of beauty, is unquestionably the hand- 
somest of all. Within the department — which by 
the way is both very small and very far to one side 
— 4he milking machine kept a crowd about it, and 
is decidedly one of the sensation articles of the Ex- 
hibition. There are, too, sewing machines, attend- 



FROM HOME. 203 

ed by sewing girls. A fine "Western reaping 
machine is attended by a medal. Two pianos, of 
New York make, have gained the same attend- 
ance, and were being highly complimented by 
an English mnsician when I passed. Two skele- 
ton wagons, as a novelty, attract some attention. 
There were several other articles which had re- 
ceived medals ; 7nccis foicblie, as my waiter at 
Pan used to say, when some specialty I had order- 
ed for breakfast couldn't be found when breakfast 
came. 

The picture galleries are well lighted, and 
lengthy. The pictures themselves I hardly feel a 
right to criticize. I took about the same interest 
in them that Charivari gives the Englishman in 
the Louvre, who gazing thought, and thinking, 
asked his wife, if the oil used in the paintings was 
the same as we put on the salad. 

The department for machinery occupies a very 
large space, and becomes one of the most inter- 
esting, as well as important, features of the Exhibi- 
tion. Much of the machinery knows how to work 
as well as when at home ; and if curious, you 
might spend a short life in watching its working. 
I was glad to see here, that of the railroad engines, 
one of the best, built at I^ewcastle, had Yankee- 
tied itself in a substantial roofing above where 
stand the engineer and firemen. The British 
plan, as well as the Continental, makes a skeleton 
of the engine, and so leaves fireman and engineer 
entirely exposed to the weather. 



204: THE YANKEE BOY 

Now for the best part of the show, the show 
of folks — ^' que puis je dire " — of the forty thou- 
sand that went the day I went, and lined all parts 
with a moving lining of various hues. I can but 
suggest this crowd and say, that, like myself, they 
appeared to enjoy most the recess given to eating, 
and looking at each other. 

I ought to say something about London, al- 
though I know it but imperfectly. More than any 
other city it satisfies an American's craving for 
bigness ; for this cause alone, I think, if uncalled- 
for prejudices be dropped, it will honestly please 
all Americans. Yery true, you have not the fine 
atmosphere that we know at home, or that French- 
men know at Paris. Yery true, the central city 
in every way lacks beauty. The old brick build- 
ings may be comfortable ; they are not handsome. 
The fronts on the streets are unadorned except by 
smoke, or worse yet, as in Eegent, the most fash- 
ionable of all the business streets, by a plastered 
imitation of stone. Then, of the buildings that are 
meant to adorn — St. Paul's, Westminster Abbey, 
or the Parliament Houses — the outside efi'ect is 
almost or entirely lost, by their low position and 
dismal surroundings. Still, the great fact of big- 
ness remains, and with it the idea of wealth and 
power. Apart too, from the central city, lie the 
parks ; and here you have the charm of beaut}^, 
a far-extending countrj^ scene of green grass, great 
trees, and fijie flowers of many shades, and very 
expensive residences bordering the sides. 



FEOM HOME. 205 

Wednesday^ Oct. 1. — There is a chill in the 
air to-day that tells of coming winter. It tells of 
past winters too. A flood of memories have been 
coming in npon me to-night — walnut trees with 
the clubs I threw in them — fishing excursions 
upon the mountain with Fred — sleigh rides with 
the girls, and buffalo robes — skating from clear 
back, when I tumbled off from one skate at every 
push, to my very last attempt with the girls as 
teacher. Let me see ! One of them told me, I 
recollect, as the ice cracked beneath us, that she 
didn't care if it did break — we should both go to- 
gether. The beautiful flirt ! She has gone alto- 
gether since : " Wooed and married and a'." 

The woman I am with grows more and more 
l^uzzled about my name. However, she's an excel- 
lent-cook, and keeps my rooms very neat. I pay 
ten shillings a week ; for this get a bedroom, the 
use of a sitting room, with fire when needed, and 
the cooking of whatever I want for my meals. 
This is the English custom of lodgings. My food, 
I find, costs me about ten shillings more ($2.50). 
Everything is very dear here. Ham at twenty- 
fi.ve cents the pound, mutton at sixteen, good but- 
ter at thirty cents, veal eighteen, &c. 

Tlie news of the Maryland battles is coming in 
upon us this week. McClellan has done nobly. 
If honest Abraham will do as well for us in the 
Western Department, we sha'n't have a little siu-- 
render item there each week. My English friends 



206 THE YANKEE BOY 

don't like McClellan ; lie is spoiling all tlieir fan. 
On going to tlie sulpliur well this morning, I got 
tlie Zeeds Mercury with the latest news. At the 
well was an oldish gentleman, and a pretty girl, 
that I presume to be his daughter. She dimpled 
her chin with good effect in making faces at the 
water, then in leaving they preceded me up the 
sidewalk. Hather abruptly, perhaps, I addressed 
the old gentleman, who like myself was reading 
the morning paper : " It seems they have got 
* away from us again, sir." 

He stopped, as short as one of McClellan's 
victories (hurrah for McClellan !), and looked at me 
in astonishment. 
■ " "We had felt very sure to bag them all this 
time, before they could recross the Potomac. 

The old gentleman, making sure his pocketbook 
was safe, yielded to a fixed fact in accepting the 
conversation. 

" They would appear to have made a very won- 
derful retreat." 

" They did well, no mistake ! but McClellan's 
after them." 

" I see the Federals have lost a great number 

of officers. (Heading in the paper.) The loss of 

* Federal officers is so great as to be unaccountable." 

They'll hardly be in a position to follow up very 

close. " 

" I don't know ; McClellan appears to be a man 
of great ability." 



FEOM HOME. 207 

My gate, that we had reached, stopped the 
talk. All this while the daughter had taken my 
old position just behind, whilst I held hers by her 
father. For the warm look, that my eyes gave 
her, as she rubbed by, I got a very little bow. If 
I see her again to want another, I may or I may 
not tell about it. 

Sunday Evening^ October 19. — It rains and 
storms famously ; so in going to church this 
evening, I took the first one, that always stands 
down the hill, in. a pretty valley, a short quarter 
of a mile from me. It belongs to the Established 
Church, but I had noticed that it did not reflect 
high churchism from without : I found it as quiet 
and unpretending within, truly a place to worship 
in, and I enjoyed the liturgy, appropriately read 
by the clergyman, the chanting by the female 
choir, and a most excellent discourse which fol- 
lowed, upon the continued struggle between the 
spirit and the lusts of the flesh. Probably owing 
to the weather there was but a slim attendance, 
but, as is often the case at such times, the clergy- 
man preached remarkably well, with apparently 
more than usual earnestness. This morning I 
went as usual to the Congregational church. The 
clergyman, as last Sunday, indulged whilst ]3reach- 
ing in the luxury of kid gloves, which were well 
sustained throughout the discourse. His choice of 
hymns, though, was happy ; the tunes selected for 
them were fine ; the singing of the congregation, 



■^ 



208 THE TAl^KEE BOY 

led by an organ, exceedingly well done. One of tlie 
hymns eung I remember to have sung before, but 
never felt its beauty : 

" When gathering storms around I view." 
Wednesday Evening^ October 22. — 'We have 
been having a great storm, that still is going on. 
It has both hailed, snowed, rained, and lightened 
during the last few days, with a wind that has 
blown down many ships, blown over many 
chimneys, and blown some very deep blushes on 
the cheeks of our best girls — but they would go 
out. The Manchester paper, this morning, was 
filled with accounts of shipwrecks. I like this 
Manchester paper much : " The Manchester Ex- 
aminer and Times." It is Bright's special organ ^ 
wholly liberal, and very ably edited. There is a 
healthy ring to the editorials that is rarely equalled. 
The ''Daily N'ews," at London, has the same 
vigorous life; but that is a three-penny, this a 
penny paper. The "London Star," a penny 
paper, is also radical ; in our war wholly for the 
IN'orth, but it lacks in tone. The " Leeds Mercury " 
I also see often, and like it well. It takes a fair, 
honorable view of matters, and shows good 
literary management. In Scotland I bought gen- 
erally the Scotsman^ published at Edinburgh. 
It has an elegant look, both in the quality of the 
paper, and the plainness of the type. I believe 
it too is tolerably fair toward us, though I looked 
chiefly to the news items. 



FEOM HOME. 209 

It is bedtime and my fire is out. I had a new 
lot of apple sauce made to-day tliat was very good ; 
also some plums, which I buy at sixteen cents the 
quart from farmers as they go by the door. I get 
most excellent homemade bread from a woman 
near. It is almost as good as our best J^ew 
England bread. 

Oct. 24. — English scenery, or habits, or life, as 
I have seen them now, although very imperfectly, 
I ought perhaps to be able to dwell a little on. 
Harrogate itself may stand as a very fair specimen 
of the best of English towns, although, being a 
watering place, it differs of course from those that 
are not. To begin with : There are five or six 
churches, two of the Established, the others of the 
various different denominations. Then there are 
perhaps twenty hotels, in the upper and lower vil- 
lages, all of them built of stone, all of them gay and 
festive in their appearance. (This last phrase is 
borrowed from a coquette I know.) The largest 
of them accommodates a hundred guests. To some 
of them there are handsome green yards, with trees 
and walks, but not near so extensive as with us. 
After the hotels are the private boarding houses. 
In this northern part of England, as in Scotland, 
everything is built of stone, a pleasing soft- 
colored stone that abounds here. In all the 
southern and middle parts of England, as I saw 
them, brick is almost exclusively used, giving a din- 
gy, disagreeable, instead of a clean, agreeable effect. 



210 THE YANKEE BOY 

The blocks of boarding houses or private 
houses are in size from one to three stories. 
Most of them have narrow yards, prettily given to 
flowers. Blinds are unknown. The housewifery 
of England is good, universally good ; you can see 
it in the clean doorsteps ; you know it by the fresh 
window-panes, or the always pleasing parlors 
that you may dare to look at through them. I 

ji have nothing to say positively to the vaunted good 
looks of English women. I couldn't find it, hon- 
estly, Kate ; I couldn't, hardly so much as else- 
where. But the girls, Kate ; yes, you do find 
those that have the pride that aristocracy gives, 
the freshness that horseback riding gives, the 
honesty that a faithful observance of Sunday gives, 
the kindness that a young heart gives, and the love, 
Kate, take care of those dimples, that a girl can't 
help but give ; for, rich or poor, we are all of us 
children of humanity. 

Shall I tell about the brutality, or the coarse- 
ness, that arises from the want of cultivation, among 
the lower strata of society ; or shall I mention the 
miserable exhibition of weak pride, or wretched 
vanity, that connects itself too often wdth the 
aristocratic element, perhaps rather to the trash 
that clings about it ; or shall I sigh for that ex- 
treme pride of selfishness, that comes from power, 
and overlooks all the rights of others, and sneers 
at all the chivalry of a world, or forgets all the 

^dearer precepts of religion ? As a Yankee boy I 



FROM HOME. 211 

will not. God knows, there's enougli that's wrong 
at home, and I will rather forget all these, or langh 
at them all, to take a walk among the hedges, or 
over the strong made roads of merry England. 

That walk has resulted poetically ; there's no 
help for it, to close the chapter : 

To-day, within the wood, 
I met in solitude, 

A maiden fair ; 
The wind swept in dehght 

Her golden hair. 

Slumbering there she lay, 
And artlessly at play 

Her features moved ; 
"Whilst every smile that came, 

Told dreams of love. 

A beauteous maiden form, 
Like blue sky 'midst a storm, 

She came to me ; 
Sleeping on the bank 

So pensively. 

A lovely, artless girl, 
Protected by the cm*l, 

Alone, that now 
Fell softly from its place. 

Across her brow. 

I could not wish to harm, 
Or wake in harsh alarm, 

This timid child ; 
And yet her beauty rare. 

My soul beguiled. 



212 THE YANKEE BOY 

And, with the ferns alone, 
Mj arm around her thrown, 

Against my breast 
The sleeping, golden girl 

I gently press'd. 

With softened, chastened cry, 
She struggled hard to fly 

From my embrace ; 
But I retained her yet, 

With crimsoning face. 

"Ko, no; my girl, no, no. 
You only gain to show. 

In struggling thus, 
The beauty of thy form, 
Thy deepening blush. 

" Chance threw me by thy side, 
Perhaps a chiding bride 

She'll give thee me ; 
Wife of my gliding years, 
Say, wilt thou be ? 

*' Thrown on the world alone, 
From duty oft I roam 

Most wickedly ; 
But thou shalt help me live 

More faithfully." 

I stopped, the maiden's eyes 
Shut in a pleased surprise, 

Her struggling ceased ; 
Though she refused reply. 

Until released. 



FROM HOME. 213 

A moment yet to love, — 
The watching trees above 

Swayed to and fro ; 
When I a rich kiss stole. 

And let her go. 

Now, o'er the bubbling brook, 
Her curls she frowning shook, 

Then archly cried : 
" I live'>3lose by the mill, 

Near Lana's side. 

" I live close by the mill, 
Just as you reach the hill." 

And as I feared, 
She glided in the woods, 
And disappeared. 

However bold it seem, 
This night to Lana's stream, 

I'll quickly go ; 
A lover loves his maid, 

She loves him, too. 

And those blue eyes I'll surely find. 

Expecting me to-night ; 
And those gold curls, amorous twined, 

Will startle in delight. 
Her laugh will go right merrily. 

Throughout her cottage home ; 
And she herself all tenderly, 

Will watch till I shall come 

To her side, this night. 



214 THE YANKEE BOT 



XX. 

Haeeogate, November 6, 1S62. 

My friend wlio reads this, whoever you may 
be, liave you or have you not travelled ? I don't 
mean this side the sea, but you have been some- 
time to ISTew York, or Boston, or Chicago, or 
somewhere else, where you were to go by cars, and 
stay away long enough to require luggage. * Well ! 
what I'm driving at is this : if you went you went 
doubtless the day after the night before, and now 
I've got right on my own position, the night be- 
fore. In your case you recollect the valise that 
was packed, and how it got packed; in mine, I 
see the portmanteau that lies packed, and I know 
all about the packing. You had a wife, perhaps, 
or a mother, or a sister, that folded very carefully 
all your things, and laid them in so easily, that 
you did not feel called upon to thank her for it. 
Unfortunately some one else married my wife, 
and the pussy-cat, which has represented near- 
ly all my company the last month, said she 
knew nothing about such work : so I had to do it 



FROM HOI^IE. 215 

myself, and am now prepared to say, tliat you did 
very wrong in not thanking the kind friend who 
packed yours. In your case, too, the packing 
was the result of skill, so that at your first stop 
you could lay your hands upon each article that 
you wished without disturbing the rest. In mine, 
the packing was the result of strength, and I don't 
mean to stop till I get through. This gives me a 
chance to slide on to the second point, — destina- 
tion. I'm going to London, Ko. 7, Eang Street, 
Cheapside. So much for to-morrow. 

The long clock, ticking in the hall, ticks very 
much as the one did at Enniskillen in Ireland. 
My piano lies open, and invites some little mel- 
ody. Pussy doesn't like music ; every time I 
touch the piano she jumps up, and, if the door is 
open, leaves. If it is not open, she looks at me as 
if I ought at least to put on the soft pedal, and 
then goes back to renew her duty as fire watcher. 
But that little melody, what shall it be ? At En- 
niskillen I hummed : " The Boatie Rows." Tlie 
two clocks certainly tick alike, but to-night that 
melody must be something else. We will leave 
it to the piano. — The piano hesitated but little ; 
perhaps because we spoke of Enniskillen, perhaps 
because of some other cause it caught an Irish 
air, and dwelt upon the last words : 

" Oh I why art thou silent, Kathleen Mavoumeen ? " 



216 THE YANKEE BOY 

No. 7, King Street, Cheapsule, London, ) 
"Saturday moruing, Nov. 8. ) 

There^s a London fog outside, thick, lieavj, 
and cliill. I have an engagement to penetrate it 

. at ten o'clock with a Massachusetts clergyman, 
who arrived at Southampton in the last steamer. 
He brings the latest and fullest news from home. 
Beside this clergyman there are three American 
couples here, and two young men ; all together, 
we carry a ruling majority, which is more than 

^^ the Administration can boast of. Last night we 
had a parlor party. Two of our pairs are re- 
turning from, the other going on to, the Conti- 
nent. Of course the last were desirous of learn- 
ing, the first fully prepared for telling, the things 
to be seen. I took a one side position, and paid a 
close — if you except an occasional smile — a most 
polite attention.. These women are so eloquent, 
and then they are such enthusiastic travellers. 
They see everything, including Eubens' pictures. 
Thursday evening, Wov. 13. — A week in Lon- 
don spent. In so large a city there should be 
interest connected with the week. A word of 
those things that everybody sees. The British 
Museum kept us, myself and the clergyman be- 
fore mentioned, the greater part of a day ; and I 
recollect now, of all the stuffed animals, fishes, and 
birds, one gray squirrel and a blue jay. From 
the shells, and stones, and seaweeds or corals, we 
got no mistress. The jugs and mummies, gath- 



FKOM HOME. 21T 

ered from the ruins of Egypt, or Rome, or Pom- 
peii, or anywhere else, were all too old to be 
agreeable. In the book department, what energy 
we had spent itself in appreciating the fact that 
the early printing of the Germans was, in every 
respect, most exceedingly well done, and could 
fairly rival the work of the present day. 

The I^ational Gallery of paintings was more 
limited than I supposed. Of its paintings, a little 
sheep of Murillo pleased me especially. But 
placed among the pictures there is one marble 
group, two nymjDhs with a lad, or a lad with two 
nymphs, I hardly know which, which kept me 
longer than anything else. 

The Tower and the Tunnel came in one trip, 
our return being by the Thames, on one of the 
meanest boats that ever claimed to be a steamer. 
Going through the long Tunnel, we had continued 
opportunities of investing in Tunnel curiosities, 
little shop stands lining its whole length. At one 
of these, kept by a bright girl, we both made 
some j)urchases. She said, " All Americans buy 
these," holding up some Tunnel views. 

" But how do you know that we are Ameri- 
cans ? " 

'' Oh, I guessed." 

"Westminster Abbey and the Parliament 

Houses, as well as Saint Paul's, as I have had 

occasion to mention before, lose much of their 

effect from the lowness of their position, and from 

10 



218 THE YAJS'KEE BOY 

the in every way unfavorable surroundings. Con- 
trary, too, to my expectations, I liked tlie whole 
city less and less the more I saw of it. It is 
dirty, and it's foggy, and it's old, and, nntil you 
get away from it into the parks, you find nothing 
pleasant to the eye. Of course I intend to make 
an exception of an occasional petticoat ; but even 
here I am inclined to indorse the sentiments of 
several British writers that "New York far excels : 

" You may walk for an hour in Broadway, 
crowded as it is with people, and not see a single 
repulsive countenance. ' I have seen more pretty 
faces,' remarks an English writer, ' in 'Ne^v York 
in one hour, than in all my life in Britain.' My 
own journal for ^NTovember, 1853, has a similar 
entry, viz. : ' I'm every day more and more struck 
with the good looks of the American ladies. One 
seldom meets a female with unprej)ossessing fea- 
tures.' " — "America and the Ainericans^^'^ hy Wil- 
liam Edward Baxter^ Esq.^ M. P.^p. 97. 

Whilst visiting the Houses of Parliament, we 
dropped in and saw the different courts now in 
session. The old custom of wearing gowns and 
horse-hair wigs is still retained by all the lawyers, 
and the judges have on the ancient ermine. 

Our new gold pen, if it has no principles 
against, is too aristocratic al to talk about the 
Hay market at midnight. It believes, though, in 
ballets, and, if I would let it, would show itself a 
genius in telling of a gold-haired girl it saw at 



FKOM HOME. 219 

one last night. There never was a more beautiful 
girl, jdo/cei jjLol, e<^ri 6 ^coKpdT7]<^. 

From actresses to clergymen tliere is a little 
step that we pride ourselves on being able to 
make gracefully. Mr. Spnrgeon is an elaborate 
failure ; Mr. Cummings I liked ; Mr. Hall seemed 
an honest, able man ; and M]\ Puncheon has a 
mind of very exceeding ability, but I could not 
think his heart and his manhood were as thor- 
oughly in the right place as were John Wesley's. 

And now, my pretty pen, you shall tell about 
the two evenings that you spent with some Amer- 
ican friends whom chance gave you. This may 
not be so much in your line as the theatre, or the 
fashionable concert at St. James' Hall which you 
went to, where pride and passion, and class and 
vanity ruled ; yet you shall tell about it, and 
mind you do it well. 

Two years ago, and a little more, I made my 
first English travelling from Liverpool through to 
London, reaching there at ten at night — a bad 
time to look up a hotel. Fortunately I recol- 
lected that my sister had slipped into my hand, 
just before I left home, the direction to a private 
boarding-house in London, which she said might 
be of use to me. In my diary I found it laid. 
So, hiring one of the cabs that waited at the de- 
pot, I directed it to 'No. T, King Street, Cheap- 
side. It was the next night, I think, at the sup- 
per table, that accidentally I found one of the 



:^- 



220 THE YANKEE BOY 

boarders to be, like myself, a Green Mountain 
boy. The acquaintance naturally ripened in the 
two or tliree days that remained, and we parted 
with a cordial shake of hands, he continuing at 
London, and I going direct to Paris. Months 
went by, and chance threw us together once more 
in the American church at Paris ; and now, re- 
turned to London, I received at dinner a note 
from the same young man. I found it an invita- 
tion to ajDpear at 'No, — Paddington Road, where 
I should find a goodly lot, all Americans. I was 
to come when I pleased, by taking the omnibus 
marked Paddington Road, Bow, and going to- 
ward Bank. Getting ready to make a call where 
girls were, sent my thoughts back to college days, 
when my chum and I hurried through our Latin, 
he looking out the first half and I the last, that 
we might the sooner meet " our girls " at the little 
reunion. He, lieutenant in the army, was sick at 
JSTew Orleans the last I heard from him. My pen, 
you see, scatters badly. 

" Which is the Paddington omnibus ? " 
" Just gone, sir ; but there'll be another in 
eight minutes." 

" Paddington Road ; here you are, sir." 
That's a fact ; here I am, and here's a pretty 
girl by me on the seat. She is pretty — she is 
very pretty, though the bundle in her lap and her 
dress tell her to be of the w^orking class. I wish 
that infernal Englishman opposite, with the thick 



FROM iio:me. 221 

whisker and lianclsome eye, would pay a little 
more respect to our rights, if not to her sex. 
Confound his impudence ; he bends over and 
dares to ask her, v.'hiist we see him clasp his hand 
about her ankle, if she doesn't think crinoline a 
great bore in an omnibus. I say, confound him. 
We glance at the girl ; a nicer one never lived ; 
there isn't one tincture of wickedness on her 
cheek, though it flushes now more from pleasure 
than the opposite. Poor girl ! she can't help it 
Botli, the power of passion and the feeling of 
class, prevent her from protesting against the 
rudeness. Fortunately at this moment the Eng- 
lishman had reached his destination. That flush 
of passion was nearly faded before I left, a few 
streets further on ; but it's an easy thing — it's a 
very easy thing for a young, unprotected girl to 
be led astray in such a city as this. 

Here's the street, and No. 3 ; and here appears 
to be the bell. We pull it, and we wait ; an in- 
stant only. The door opens ; the honest face of 
an old friend greets us ; we know that it's all 
right. The parlor is here, and here are the 
ladies ; two from Vermont, and two from New 
York, and the other, I think, from New Hamp- 
shire. For brevity I will throw two evenings 
spent into one. The girls believed in McClellan, 
and of course they believed in Fremont, such a 
splendid man, who ran away with Jessie Benton. 
My second male friend from New York, who, 



222 THE YANKEE BOY 

with another from Connecticut, helped our sex 
into a quartette, had a still better belief : he be- 
lieved in popped corn, and demonstrated his posi- 
tion by producing the genuhie article, including 
popper — the old Connecticut patent. This last, 
he said, was supposed by the English custom- 
house officials to be a rat trap. But my story 
has so increased that it already begins to labor 
with its own magnitude. ( Ut jam- magnitudine 
laboret sua.) We had the popped corn, and then 
we had American songs, with a New York piano : 
the "Sleigh-ride Song," '^Eita," "The Laugh of 
a Child," followed by the " Star-Spangled Ban- 
ner" — the first time I have heard it since leaving 
home. The girls went up stairs, and got from 
their trunks a half-dozen little flags to wave in 
accompaniment ; and more yet, the girls threw 
their hearts into the song, and one of them felt it 
her duty, when it was finished, to hint a strong 
doubt of my patriotism because I had not returned 
'before this to get shot. The supper was a sn.ccess, 
enriched by true maple syrup just brought from 
Yermont hills. 

I sha'nt tell that in the after-evening we played 
euchre, because, perhaps, the girls wouldn't like 
to have it known. J^either shall I tell how, by 
mistake, I called one of them " my dear girl," 
because I shouldn't like to have it known. The 
evening is passed. There rests only a three-mile 
walk back, for the omnibuses are all gone to bed. 



FEOM HOME. 223 

With a keen deliglit in the starlight night (T 
must insist there was no rhyme meant), we make it. 

'' Wait a minnte, Susie." 

It is one of two girls, gajly dressed, speaking to 
her friend. It is now midnight. They are out on 
the faubourgs searching for a lover. Well ! it's a 
soft, mild night, to-night. With a certain levity 
they can yet sing the beautiful words that Victor 
Hugo gives to the French grisette : 

" Nous acheterons de bien belles cboses, 
En nous promenant le long des faubourgs ; 
Les bleuets sont bleus, les roses sont roses, 
Les bleuets sont bleus, — j'aime mes amours." 

Yes, yes, yes, les Vleiiets sont hletis, but the nights 
will grow very cold by and by, my girls. 



224 THE YANKEE BOY 



XXI. 

La Station a Dieppe, La France, ) 
November 14, 8 p. m. (Train to go at 10.) ) 

I SHALL stop at Eouen, I tliink ; left London at 
ten this morning. All right so far, though the 
very efficient and polite French officials frowned 
perceptibly at my passport, which has been let 
now to take care of itself for two years. Once 
more the French is spoken all about me. It 
brings back days and months, I could almost say 
years, that seemed to have gone. Two years ago 
this month, I passed from here through the old 
city of Rouen, and landed in early dark at Paris. 
I had been recommended to the Hotel de 
Isro^;mandie as being respectable, and reasonable. 
It struck me on entering that it ought to be reason- 
fable ; I couldn't recollect when I had ever been in 
quite so dingy a hotel. However, they talked 
English, that is, the mistress did, as well as the head 
waiter, both of whom were English, and as to 
price, they would keep me after the French man- 
ner for seven francs per day. This last, after hav- 



FBOM HOME. 225 

ing lived a we'ek at first-class English hotels, I 
considered a pretty fair idea, though a dim suspi- 
cion of froo's to be eaten somewhere haunted me. 
My room is shown to me. I sit down on my small 
trunk and open it. Little reminiscences of the 
past dare to appear. Confound the past. There's 
French to be learned, that's the first thing, and those 
fifty lessons in Fasquelle's, which you and Nelly 

H looked out at West Brattleboro' Academy 

half a dozen years ago, are going to count but very 
little on the job. I say the French, that's the first 
thing ; then, after tliat, you know, you have sever- 
al pet ideas, which cannot get developed into a 
vigorous life, without many months of time and 
labor. The fact is, trunk, you and I may as 
well grapple it, we are not going back for years. 
Let me see ; I don't know much about these French 
people; I guess I'll twist your lock once more, 
whilst I leave you to go down and get a blink of 
the city by gaslight. 

Now, my friend, I continued patronizingly to 
myself, when I was fairly out the door on the 
street it fronted, it will be a very discreet thing in 
you to get a good idea of the name of this street 
you propose starting up. Well! w^e'll draw up 
and study it by the light of yon lamp. " Rue de 
Richelieu." Richelieu, Richelieu, that's all right, 
there's where I've got it. You recollect those 
books on France, which your father insisted you 
should listen to. Without doubt this street was 
10* 



226 THE YANKEE BOY 

named after the Mr. Eiclielieii that figured in 
those books. And now, " marchons," as we said 
at West Brattleboro'. This Rue de Richelieu 
seems to be as dull as the old gentleman was. 
Here's an idea, though ; the clerks in these stores 
all along here are what one might call clerkesses. 
Don't you see ? They are all girls, and if you stop 
and examine the cotton hose which hangs in that 
window, you will perceive that the girl, waiting 
there by the counter, is very pretty. She per- 
ceived the same fact several years ago, in all the 
-Q.Ye looking-glasses that hang in her chamber, 
that's what makes her look so philosophical. By 
the way, if a fellow's got to stop to examine every 
stocking he sees, it will make very slow triivelling. 
I'll come and look at this pair again. 'No. — , 
where do these numbers lie ? No. — , I've got 
it, No. 4. — ^Thunder ! here's another idea, splendid- 
ly done, too, no mistake. It's a pretty position. 
What a nice leg she's got, and how lovely she 
looks lying there on the sofa ! It's a shame though, 
too bad, such a good girl. That's a pretty face in 
the corner, and there's another with that little bit 
of gauze on. '' Cartes-cle- Visite, 1 f?\ cJiaque.^^ — 
Hallo, here's something that looks like the Paris 
I've read of. It is a magnificent street. We will 
go to the right. Rue de Richelieu, you recollect, 
opposite that big pole, which looks as though it 
might be a political fiagstaff. Here we are with 
the crowd on the Boulevard. — ^When, an hour after. 



FEOM HOME. 227 

we turned back hj tlie flagstatF, the ballet girls 
still slept in tlie window, but tlie girl tliat kept 
the cotton hose had closed for the night. 

Hotel de Victoria, h Eotjex, ^ 
Saturday morning. \ 

I am just throngh with a chocolate breakfast. 
If nothing else told, the good chocolate would tell 
that I was again in France. I might say the same 
of the bread, for in. England it is nniversallj verj 
poor. In France it is generally very good. Giv- 
ing it though every credit, I shall not indorse the 
opinion of those who would place it before our 
own homemade article. 

Arrived at the station here last night, I passed 
out, with my valise in hand, by the only exit there 
ever is from a French depot. I went by the cabs, 
kept up the broadest road, and, for the night, took 
the first respectable-looking hotel. To my ring 
of the bell, a Il^orman damsel responded. I told 
her I wanted a bedroom, with one bed, emphasiz- 
ing this last restriction a wee bit, that I might not 
be charged for a double-bedded room in the set- 
tlement. Once more in a Catholic country, no 
Bible ever lies upon your bedroom table, and its 
best precepts have but a fickle hold upon the mass. 

Shown to my room, and the easy questions 
that a French waitress always asks answered, I 
sat a while and mused upon the peculiarities and 
similarities of French hotels. I could almost have 
sworn to the furniture as the same that I had at 



228 THE YAl^TKEE BOY 

Tours, in the Grand Hotel du Faisan ; or anywhere 
else where I have j)assed a night in France. 
There was the same bed, with Inxnrions springs ; 
the same fonr mirrors, one on each wall ; the 
same mahogany bnreau and waslistand ; the same 
writing table, and then, on the mantel, the same 
indispensable clock was ticking its life away, 
guarded by the two demichandeliers and the two 
china vases. 

Eouen is as completely a French city as Buf- 
falo is an American one. A busy quay along the 
river ; one wide business street, in which, I pre- 
sume, although I have not noticed, are the build- 
ings of the Prefecture ; one airy boulevard, both 
wide and long. Elsewhere the streets are all dark 
and narrow, whilst in the centre the immense 
cathedral frowns down upon the old town, in 
keeping its triumphant watch, as the Pantheon 
does at Paris, or the other cathedrals of the same 
family do at Orleans and Tours. 

Shall I draw another picture from my first 
French life ? I think I will, giving this chapter 
mostly to the two tableaux. On the third day 
after I arrived at Paris, I engaged board and 
lodging by the week, at a Hotel Meuble in the 
Pue de Fleurus, to whicli I had been recom- 
mended by a young American in 'New York. My 
room faced the street, was very good in itself, 
very good when I got to it, and gave me a sort 
of birdseye view of all Paris. I can recollect 



FROM HOME. 229 

•well the first evening that 1 spent in it, with a 
bright fire, Galignani's daily paper, and a yonng 
girl's photograph. The next day French books 
began to appear. Bnt the third I labored nnder 
a new idea. I thought it over carefully, and 
determined it affirmatively, to go into some pri- 
vate French family ; but w^here ? Now I've a 
great respect for ballet girls, and also I've a great 
respect for clergymen. The thought I took was 
a good one. From a clergyman I could get a 
reference, undoubtedly, to some family for board 
and instruction, as I w^ished. From the Galig- 
nani paper I took my direction, made the trip to 
the j)astor of an English church in the Rue St. 
Honore, and succeeded in learning from him of 
a place which he thought would suit me. This 
was in the Rue de Yaugirard, 'No. 98, only a street 
or two from the Rue de Fleurus where I was ; the 
next day I called ; the second concluded the bar- 
gain. 

The end of the week brought me into the 
family, with a game of whist for the first evening. 
Besides myself, there w^ere two South Americans 
from Brazil, as boarders. The family included 

Professor S , his wife, his son, and — excuse 

a moment's hesitation — his two girls. Don't 
think I am going to tell much of private life, al- 
though I mean to stretch this paragraph several 
lines more. At half past eight in the mor.dng a 
rap at the door told the cup of chocolate with the 



230 THE YANKEE BOY 

petit pain was ready. This was always good, 
especially when the madame made it herself, as 
she often did. At nine Monsieur le Professeiir 
popped into the room to hear and correct my 
lessons, prepared from Fasqnelle. At one 
o'clock the two Brazilians and myself had our 
breakfast alone ; one meat with, one vegetable, 
bread, butter, and a bottle of wine ordinaire. At 
six o'clock came the hour for dinner, which we 
had with the family. That dinner was always 
good. The madame was always wholly a matron 
that would have graced any table, or any home. 
The Professor was always wholly a Frenchman, 
insisting with tbe most polite pertinacity upon 
instructing me in the nicer points of etiquette. 
The oldest girl was wholly a lively French demoi- 
selle ; but the youngest was a sweet pet, a girl 
among the hundred, who ought to grow into one 
of the best and most intelligent of women. I 
sometimes feared there was a vein of selfishness 
that would grow with her gowth ; but we'll hope 
well she will smother that. 

There's a ghost in every family. Isn't that 
the way the old sentiment reads % I am not sure 
about the ghost here, but there was something 
worse, a poodle dog. If I could only do him jus- 
tice I would try to sketch him. A mean, yelping 
little cur, I could have handed him into eternity 
forty times a day, only he kept always behind the 
girls' dresses. 



FROM HOME. 231 

I ought, and I must call upon this family be- 
fore 1 quit Paris again. I stopped with them 
three months, going thence to Tours, in fair Tour- 
aine. 



232 THE YANKEE BOY 



XXII. 



" A cliiel's amnng you taking notes, 
And faith he'll prent them." 



Paris. 5 Kac de la Paix, i 



Dec. 5, 1SC2. 

I HATE Slot a ucw book tins moniino; to write 
mj notes in. I liave also got a letter. 

When I readied Paris from Ronen three weeks 
since, Satnrclav night, I went into one of the first 
hotels, near the station, to stay in it over the Sun- 
day. Price ai>;reed on by the day ciirht francs. 
Simdaj I went to church, the American church, 
Eue de Berri ; the Eey. Dr. McClintock, pastor. 
The church and I are old acquaintances, and good 
friends. I was something late, but 1 opened care- 
fully, and turned up the winding staircase, that 
leads into the snuill gallery, where the choir is. 
A glance told me that the choir rested substan- 
tially the same. The next day, Monday, was 
commenced in a call for letters at Monro's, the 
American banker's. These read, I glanced at the 
names of Americans entered in his book. With 



FEOM HOME. 233 

satisfaction I noticed at the top of the last page 
the name of my old friend R., 25 Hue d'Ulm. 
1 made a quick start for the Quartier Latin. I 
will but give results. Six francs lured the French 
medical student that occupied the room with H. 
to move into another ; I now take his place. We 
front toward, and are almost within a stone's 
throw of the Pantheon. We pay for rent, a 
douhle-bedded room, forty francs a month. Wood, 
and lights, and service will cost us thirty more. 
Our meals we take where we choose, at an average 
expense of half a dollar per day ; and this is about 
as cheap an arrangement as an American can 
accommodate himself to at Paris. 

" Col-o-niel," said I this morning, awaking from 
a sweet dream, that w^as too sweet to be a reality, 
" Col-o-niel, what time is it? '' 

" Xine o'clock," answered he emphatically. 

" Ah ! Coloniel, that's the hour they used to 
commence school when we were boys. As you 
are up, and I am not, just direct that big letter 
for me if you please. It must go this morning. 
Do you know how that old song goes : 

* I dreamt, 'twas but a dream, thou -wert my bride, love.' 

Xcver mind, it was but a dream. I wish — I wish 
I was up. Coloniel, you ought to have a fire." 

" I don't want any fire ; I am going to the 
dissecting room directly." 

My cup of chocolate taken, an hour after I sat 



234: THE YANKEE BOY 

alone looking out upon tlie magnificent beanty of 
the Pantlieon, and thinking how three things were 
necessary to the tranquillity of my mind, — a warm 
breakfast, a stamj) for my letter, and a blank book. 
The first want became soon so serionsly nncom- 
fortable, that I arose, threw on my overcoat, and 
went ont in the damp morning to attend to it. 
There is a restaurant near its that we both know 
well. It gives n.s good meals at the lowest price. 
Besides, the waiters are very civil, and always 
answer handsomely the expected potcr-boire. 

" Monsieur will take a chop this morning ? " 

"Yes." 

"And some butter — Monsieur always takes 
some butter ? " 

" That's a fact, — ^un supplement quinze sous, — 
and look here, some of those stewed prunes." 

"Oui, Monsieur, pas de vin? " 

" iSTon, pas de vin." 

;Now there's the stamp for that big letter. 
Perhaps they will have them in this news-shop 
across. " Pardon, Madame ; avez-vous des tim- 
bres-postes ? " 

" Oui, oui, Monsieur." 

" J'en desire un de seize sous." 

" I)e seize sous, voila. Monsieur. Merci, Mon- 
sieur. Bonjour, Monsieur." 

Stay, it's Friday. To-morrow the steamer sails 
over the sea for your own country. " Pardon, 
Madame, je prendrai un Siecle." 



FEOM HOME. 235 

"Yoila, Monsieur; merci, Monsieur; bonjour, 
Monsieur." 

INfever saw that bazaar before ; quite a 

brisk one. ''' Entrez, Monsieui* ; qu'est ce que vous 
voulez ? " 

" Avez-vous le jeu d'ecliecs ? " 

" Yoila, Monsieur." 

" Bon, quel est le j)rix? " 

" Quarante neuf sous, Monsieur." 

" Ell bien, je le prenclrai." 

Let's see, tliey keep everything at these bazaars. 
They must have that blank book. 

Don't be too quick; look twice before you 
jump. Do you recollect, in the long walk you 
took the other day, the shoj^ where you bought 
that photograph of Kosa Bonheur ? 

Yes, I do very well, I shall always recollect it. 
The girl that did it up for me looked as much like 
one at home as one sweet pea looks like another. 

Yery well, don't you recollect she asked you 
if Monsieur didn't wish anything more ? And she 
suggested a diary for the coming year. 

I recollect every word she said, perfectly. She 
brought down a dozen, and told how nicely each 
was made, and said they were cheap, and her hazel 
eyes looked so honest, and, — I was warming imper- 
ceptibly, — and — 

Don't grow too eloquent, there's really no oc- 
casion. 

And, I say, she opened the door, when I went 



236 THE YANKEE BOY 

out the first time with a sweet little sm. ^ .^ax, 
brought a quick complimeiit to my lips. The 
next time I went she didn't open the door. I 
think she didn't look up at all. It was a very 
nice little shop ; not so small either. I believe 
it was her father that kept it. All this last I 
spoke dreamily. 

If she kept diaries, she kept blank books ; sug- 
gested my reason, that strives thus often to advise 
me. 

A thousand times better idea than you usually 
get off. Aliens, we must leave our chessmen at 
the room. 

" Yous allez a Clichy, n'est ce pas ? " 

" Oui, Monsieur." 

I got up on the omnibus, both the letter and 
the Siecle in my hand. I examined this last com- 
placently. It would sail away in the steamer to- 
morrow, and carry with it, in spite of post-office 
rules, a little line of writing. Our omnibus passes 
down the Hue de Tournon, turns into a narrow 
street, goes by some roast chestnuts, with some 
more roasting, reaches the quay, winds along the 
river to the first bridge, crosses this, and passes 
through the Place du Carousel to stop at the foot 
of the Rue de Kichelieu, in the Rue St. Honore. 
Again in motion, we go up the Rue de Richelieu. 
In this ride two thoughts strike me with force : 
that Paris is really a beautiful, airy city, and that 
the heavy omnibus makes much less noise, and 



FEOM HOME. 237 

hence goes much more comfortably over the new- 
fashioned, smooth, asphalt pavement, than on the 
rough ones. The emperor is doing a good thing 
for Paris any way ; better this than to do nothing. 
The Eue Neuve des Petits-Champs crosses the 
Rue de liicheligu, and with a continuation runs 
direct to the Poste Pestante — Poste-te, Pestante-te, 
as they say at Marseilles, and the South. Once 
turned from the post-office, I do not intend to tell 
at all in which direction I went. 

" Yes, Mademoiselle, a little book to take 

notes in, don't you keep them ? " 

" Oh yes, we keep them, wait a minute, I'll 
bring them. Something like this you want, don't 
you ? This is very good paper, twenty-iive sous. 
This one is something more thick, thirty-five 
sous." 

Ah, those eyes ! What a sweet little flower 
she is. Don't you wish you were picking straw- 
berries with her, among the daisies under those 
mountains of yours ? 

If you wish it she doesn't. 

Doesn't she ? 

jSTo, she doesn't like the warmth of your tone 
when you speak, nor that you should come so 
closely when she is taking down the books. She 
hasn't smiled once, but she does frown. She won't 
open the door, and she won't say good-by. 

" Ah ! ha ! on verra." 



238 THE YANKEE BOY 

She will open the door, and if she does not 
saj good-by, she will dream to-night she did. 

Come, come, my girl, wliere daisies grow, 
Come 'neath my mountains, come with me ; 

We'll catch the hours, that swiftest flow, 
And rob them of their fragrancy. 

Come, come, my child, the melting sun 

Is lingering in the middle sky ; 
On daisies bright its beams are flung, 

Above where reddening berries lie. 

The berries from their lowly bed, 
Or those that flaunt on bonny stem. 

We'll pluck ; or if you wdsh, instead. 
To rest, we'll seek some shady glen. 

Where buttercups, that glisten near, 

I'll gather in their airy pride ; 
To toss them from thy matchless hair, 

Or droop them from thy maiden side. 

Each whispering breeze, that passes by, 
That dares to touch thy cheek so fair. 

Will wing its way with tenderer sigh. 
Will joyful be ; when thou art there. 

Thy heart, thy heart, in warmer tide. 
Will beat, will beat more sweetly far ; 

Thy cheek, thy cheek, in purer pride 
Shall always glow ; where daisies are. 

Then hasten, yet, where daisies grow. 

Alone, alone, with only me ; 
When blushes o'er thy bright cheek go, 

I'll kiss love's tear drop from thine e'e. 



TUOM HOME. 239 

Thursday Night, 25 Eue D'ULii. 

Monday niglit, with two friends I attended 
the Reunion of Americans, that the Kev. Dr. 
McClintock gives each week. Some thirty were 
present. Before we went np, we dined at Demory 's, 
116 Palais Royal. It is perhaps the best restau- 
rant of its kind in the city. Price of breakfast, 
twenty-five cents ; two dishes to choice, with des- 
sert, and half a bottle of wine, or, instead of wine, 
if one prefer, a cuj) of chocolate, or coffee. Din- 
ner is two francs ; giving a sonp, bread d discretion^ 
three dishes to choice, wath a dessert and wine, or 
coffee, as at breakfast. In most of the restaurants 
of this class the cooking is poor. In this it is 
good. From here we went to the Hotel du Louvre, 
glancing a moment first at the jewelry in the 
Palais Eoyal. The Hotel du Louvre, though 
eclipsed now by the Grand Hotel, must still always 
remain a magnificent building. In its large Salon 
d'Attente, gilded and painted, we stopped per- 
haps half an hour. Last night I went to the 
theatre. I felt like it, and suffered imperceptibly 
the luxury and voluj)tuousness of the dresses, that 
exposed too well the rounded limbs, and handsome 
form of the girls, to steal over me. But among 
all the easy gaiety of the group, there was one 
girl whose lovely face and soft blue eye touched 
within me a deejDer feeling than one of mere 
passion ; when she floated to the front, and sang, 
in the sweetest of voices, a gay French song, I 



240 THE YANKEE BOY 

couldn't help it, the tears would start as they 
did two years ago, in the same place, to the same 
voice. I care nothing that tlie purity of her eye 
and the beauty of herself have been dimmed by 
even years of licentiousness and frivolity. Love 
loves her. Modesty kisses her. And fair Chas- 
tity hath sworn that she v/ill always hover about 
the girl, whom she was born to serve : 

" You may break, you may ruin the vase if you will ; 
The scent of the roses will hang round it still." 

And I will always wish thee, indeed I will, 
sweet Louise, though we never yet have spoken, 
a happy life, a peaceful death. 

THE BALLET GIRL'S SONG TO HER LOVER. 

My hair it is golden, my eyes they are blue, 
My heart warms to passion, it will warm for you ; 
I will frown on sweet virtue, and drive her away. 
To be gone through the night, — Oh ! she'll come back at day, 
Tra la la, &c. 

Do you love the soft flashes from fond eyes that go ? 
Do you love the bright blushes on young cheeks that glow ? 
I'm a poor ballet girl, on the great world alone ; 
Surely more than bright blushes were easily won. 
Tra la la, &c. 

Have you tears for the sorrow you think may be mine ? 
Then you've joy for the beauty you know can be thine : 
My bosom heaves softly, with the passions that sway 
Its beauty by night, if they do not by day. 



FROM HOME. 24:1 

And witli love I am singing, tra la la la la la, 
With sweet love I'm singing, tra la la la la la, 
So kind and so beautiful, cMldish, and gay, 
You must love me by niglit, if you do not by day. 

Oh ! mother, dear mother, don't frown on your child ; 
With no one to love her, her young heart beguiled 
Hath wandered some farther than it ought to, they say. 
But if sinful by night, it repenteth by day. 

Though careless I sing, tra la la la la la, 
Though thoughtless I sing, tra la la la la la. 
Though I recklessly sing, tra la la la la lay ; 
When wicked by night, I am sorry by day. 

My form is most beautiful, airy, and bright, 
My face yet is lovely, and pure in God's sight ; 
I'm too pretty a girl, with bad vice to play ; 
I will smile to sweet virtue — she'll not go away. 
Tra la la, &c. 



25 Rtte D'XJlm, Dec. 12, ) 
Friday Evening. ) 

" Gone to Demory's, where I am to meet 



and two others to go to Houdin's. We are to dine 
at 5.30, — thought you might want to come. 
Yours, K." So much I found in the hole of my 
key when I returned this evening, but I would 
rather spend a quiet evening with my room than 
go anywhere to-night, at least, anywhere in Paris. 
I fear my pen is going to refuse to write. It 
commenced briskly, but got somewhat provoked 
in making a fire with green fagots and wet wood. 
11 



242 ( THE YANKEE BOY 

The fire however proves a success ; I shall draw 
up before it to mnse, if this pen of mine continues 
balky. Only here's one objection, I can think of 
nothino; I care to muse on. I believe there's a 
letter for me at Munro's. If I had that, it might 
arouse my thoughts that slimiber so, and force 
them gaily on, as the white-sailed sloops skim be- 
fore the breezes of Lake Champlaiu. 

Here are thoughts for you to muse upon. 
Don't you remember, when you drove to Alburgh 
Springs, you came back by Grand Isle County, 
Yermont ? There never were more beautiful drives 
than you had in that trip. You recollect the light 
waves of the lake, with the distant mountains. You 
recollect the evergeens that lined its shores in 
many places, and the beautiful farmhouses you 
were all the while passing. You have seen noth- 
ing such since you left home, and will find nothing 
such anywhere in the world, except in America. 
Don't you wish you were now among those Yer- 
mont mountains, where a manly heart grows, nour- 
ished by the cold vigor of winter winds and the 
dark foliage of giant hemlocks ? "Wouldn't you 
be better there, among those scenes of healthy 
purity, than here nt Paris, where there is no 
purity ; where all the young men you meet, be 
they from America, from England, or from France, 
talk of mistresses as they would of j)oj)ped corn, 
and help drag such girls as Louise to the dreadful 
torture of a harlot's death ? Besides, those moun- 



FEOM HOME. 243 

tains at home love yon. You never went among 
their old trees, that they did not urge you to go 
forward and win a useful life. You have never 
fished along their trout streams, without their 
waters advising in a thousand things that per- 
jDlexed you. You never picked berries among 
their bushes, but that they whispered of love, and 
told that a quiet home of one's own was the place 
where life could be best passed. Don't you think 
that was the truth? Don't you know that w^as 
the truth ? Why don't you go home then ? 

Whilst my thoughts are among those home 
mountains, I think I will let them linger and give 
some of the whisperings of an old Pine, as the old 
tree itself whispered them to me years ago. 



244 WniSPEEINGS OF 



XXIII. 

WHISPERINGS OF AN OLD PINE.— 1. 

Yes ! I am an old Pine, standing on the moun- 
tain top. I am very, very old. My limbs, some of 
them, are palsied and decayed. And yet 1 am a 
strong and healthy Pine, and my top, vigorous 
and green, towers up a hundred feet above the 
mountains, to dally with the lightning, and sway 
in unshadowed sunshine. I am a proud and 
happy Pine ; 'tis natural that I should be, I have 
lived so long, and for a century reigned the king 
of all the forests around me, on all the mountains 
about me, of all the world that I can see ; and I 
think that I must see pretty much all the world 
there is. Ages ago, — so very long that my leaves 
forget to wail when I try to think it back, — I was 
a little Pine, only a bush. My great grandsire 
was king then; but he, giant that he was and 
knotted in strength, was killed. Whilst fighting 
the tempest, he was struck by lightning: and 
now I stand where he stood, old, strong, great as 



AN OLD PIN^E. 24:5 

he was, looking myself down upon a little shrub 
that I see peeping np at me from below, yon where 
the snails crawl. Wonder if I shall be struck by 
lightning ! Ugh ! it would be the death of me I 
sup230se. "Well, if it should, it's a glorious death 
for an old Pine. But what matters it about my- 
self; or why do I conceited tell how many the 
circles of my mighty trunk? Little care you 
gentle folks, that live down in the valley, about 
the tall Pine, which hath watched over your 
fathers' childhood, and sighed, perhaps, the only 
requiem above your mothers' graves. The most 
of you I mean, for there are a few of you who 
love me very much ; so have they told me, and I 
believe them. 

Do you see that little cottage just below me 
on my right, nestling amidst the hills, with the 
brook that starts from my base winding near it ? 
Rather a pretty cottage, isn't it ? Such a one as 
you would love to think of as your home sweet 
home. That is a mighty fine elm there near the 
front yard gate ; tall too, that is, tall for an elm, 
which is generally a very short tree. Do you 
know I always loved that house very much ? be- 
cause it is so cozy, you suppose. 'No, that isn't" it. 
Perhaps because of the little pine that is growing 
in the front yard, you think. Yes, partly that. 
The seed from which that little pine grew came 
from me. When I tell you some time how it got 
down there, you wall know better about those 



24:6 WHISPERINGS OF 

who live in that lionse, and why I love it so much. 
But stay, don't you see sitting before the front 
window a little girl, — ^perhaps she should be called 
a maiden now, — all veiled in sanny curls? If 
your eyes were as good as mine you would see 
her. That little girl is the beauty of these moun- 
tains. She is the loveliest of all the American 
daughters over whom I look. Every curl of her 
golden hair is a prize which angels might envy. 
You look incredulous. Well, you don't know her ; 
you haven't watched over her from her cradle as 
I have. She never clasped you, as she has me, 
nor let her temples rest upon your arm, as she has 
upon mine. 

Twenty-six years ago that small cottage was 
built, and in it moved a young man, then, and a 
pretty girl, his wife. Their name was Lawrence, 
so I heard some woodsmen say. To them whilst 
they yet lived in their new home two children 
were born. The proud Ellen — for so all the 
mountains and the trees came to call her, she 
would move so haughtily beneath their shadows 
and their boughs — was four years older than the 
mountain pet. I remember I began to think 
a great deal of the child Ellen, so merry was she 
playing in the valley, when it was whispered 
among the trees, coming from the big elm, that 
Ellen had a little sister. The same day the death 
bell sounded among our mountains; the newly 
born babe never saw its father; the mother in 



AN OLD PINE. 247 

the time of sorrow was told tliat her husband. 



the lover of her girlhood, was dead. Do you 
wonder that from that instant the old Pine watched 
tenderly over all that household, hut most of all 
over the newly born babe ? 

Years went by. I cannot tell you all, how 
the little scolden haired Bertha became our dar- 
ling ; nor how her sister grew in beauty and in 
v^omanhood, — the jjroud belle, the generous-soul ed 
girl, the merry, reckless, bewitching beauty. Often 
used she to come up here and gaze off, for hours 
sometimes, laughingly upon the grassy world, 
tearfully upon the azure skies. Sometimes she 
was alone : at others, she had brought with her 
some country beau, awkward, dazzled, bewildered 
from her beauty and her wit. But I knew that 
no one of them caused her heart to throb faster, 
or brought to her cheek the blush of a maiden's 
love. Would she ever, I used often to muse, would 
she ever, the soft-haired maiden of the JSTorth, 
forget herself, and lose her proud supremacy? 
Oh, yes, she will, I sighed in answer ; her thoughts 
will yet unconsciously cluster about some lover, 
who v/ill at last win her for his bride. Would to 
God, that, whoever he shall be, he may be worthy 
of so sweet a flower — of so wai-m a heart. 

There came a time — for months the Lily of the 
Yalley came not near the old Pine. What meant 
it ? I could see her, stepping strong as ever, wend 
her way beneath the roadside trees to school, or, 



248 WHISPEEINGS OF 

for miles sometimes, to pick wild flowers, and 
gather wild berries. 

I asked mj little Birdie, one day, wlij her sister 
never came to see me now — she had not for a long 
time. 

"It must be because she's a naughty girl," 
she answered. "I'll make her come to-morrow. 
Tell me, good Pine, have you seen my Kenneth 
come this way ? " 

" 'No, my golden pet, he hasn't been here." 

" Oh, that's too bad, isn't it ? " From under 
the curls the child's face was very solemn, and 
then a child's smile brightened it. " It's too bad, 
Piney, for we would both like to see Kenneth, 
wouldn't we? But then I am very happy here 
with you." And she lay down upon my moss- 
covered roots, child and angel blended into one. 
So thought the old Pine. 

" Will you never tell, good Pine ? " 

" Never tell," echoed I. 

"When I get old as Nelly is, I'm going to 
marry my Kenneth." 

Ah! the little girl, she had looked often on 
the sun, but never seen its dark spots. The old 
Pine had, and I said, " My poor child, you are yet 
only a child. Each year always brings its changes ; 
besides, — ^the old Pine now spoke in much wisdom, 
— besides, however much your Kenneth loves you, 
the old Pine has watched closely and never heard 
him give you any troth, nor ask any in return." 



AN OLD PINE. 249 

" Then, good old Piney, you were in a big doze 
all day yesterday, for it was only yesterday that 
Kenneth asked me for my troth, and I gave it to 
him. You knew Kenneth was going away, old 
Pine." 

'^ JSTo, indeed I did not, or indeed how could 
I ? Kenneth never tells at all what he means to 
do." 

" But he told me, old Pine." 

" And you shall tell it to me, my little pet." 

" Well, Piney, I will ; but you oughtn't to have 
been dozing yesterday, although it was such a 
sleepy day. I think that was why I thought I 
w^ould come up here with you, where the breezes 
are, but when I got to the brook, half way up, I 
stopped there, it looked so clear and cold, and I 
took my shoes and stockings off you know to wade 
in it. So I tucked up my dress, and paddled all 
about in the river, and then I stood still, and let 
the fishes skim over my feet ; one little fellow I 
caught right between my toes. You've no idea 
how he seemed to enjoy it. But by and by I let 
him go — that is, he got away — and I jumped out 
on to the mossy bank, and then, it was all so 
very beautiful, I lay down to listen to the water 
playing upon the boulders, and the wind rus- 
tling in the trees. Pretty soon I heard a little twig 
break. I looked up and there was Kenneth stand- 
ing right by me, and looking at my bare feet. 
Wasn't it unkind in him ? And when I told him 
11* 



250 WHISPERINGS OF 

to go till I pat my stockings on, lie only laughed, 
and threw himself right down by me, and put one 
arm about my waist ; when I tried to scold, he 
called me his darling, and kissed me, and all I 
could do was to draw my feet imder my skirts. 
Then he made me put my head upon his shoulder ; 
he told me I was his mountain girl ; next week 
he was going off to college, four long years ; then 
he would be whatever he wished, but I should 
be his wife : of course I should, only he wanted 
me to promise now, and his large blue eyes looked 
60 sober, and so full of love. But I told him he 
must go away, first, until I got my stockings on. 
And then he laughed again. He called me his 
little thistle-down, and said he was going to put . 
them on himself pretty soon, I knew it very well — 
the naughty boy, — but that 1 must promise now to 
be his wife. He drew me closer to him and kissed 
my lips, and he looked at me again so mournfully ; 
when he looks so, he always makes me do what 
he wants to have me. I told him to bend over 
me once more ; I kissed him ; I wanted to all the 
while, you old Piney, and oh ! I'm so glad I did. 
Dear boy, I whispered to him that I would be his 
wife whenever he came after me, and then I put 
my feet out on the moss, and told him to put on 
my stockings if he wanted to. When he had put 
them oh, we walked away down the mountain 
t02:ether, till he left me at our home. And now, 
old Pine, don't you think, don't you 'know that I 



AN OLD PINE. 251 

am going to be Kenneth's wife? Bnt see, there 
comes Ellen. Don't you know, my Piney, I some- 
times think Ellen loves Kenneth too." 

The old Pine sighed and felt badly ; but Ellen, 
more haughty than ever, came np toward us. 
She spoke not a word to me, but I was used to 
that. Often she would stand for hours, and give 
no sign that she thought of anything but herself. 
'Now she did not notice me, but she turned to 
Birdie and spoke : 

" Bertha, darling, mother wants you, and want- 
ed me to tell you if you were here." 

" Good-by, my good old Pine," said Bertha. 

'^ Never mind the old Pine, you little o-oose, 
come here and kiss your sister's cheeks. Go to 
mother now, quick ; never mind the stupid Pine, 
I say." But Birdie never left me without a good- 
by. Ellen often did. The old Pine loved the 
golden Bertha as it Avould an angel ; but the old 
Pine, that scorned the tempest and the lightning, 
though it did not care how Ellen treated it, used 
always to weep in sadness, when it saw, as it did 
now, a fever flush on the proud Ellen's cheek. 
AVhen the golden curls were fully gone, Ellen 
turned away, perhaps to follow. 

God bless the gay Ellen, and cool those tear 
drops from her cheek ; sighed the old Pine to her. 
She turned ; oh ! how relieved we were to see a 
smile upon her face again. 

It was well meant, you blundering Pine ; 



a 



252 WHISPEEINGS OF ^ 

Ellen's complimentSj and she wishes you this 
bright morning a gay good-by." 

How true a girl ! How glorious a girl ! The 
old Pine loves Ellen. Yes, yes, yes ; the old Pine 
loves her. 



AN OLD PINE. 253 



XXIV. 

WHISPERINGS OF AN OLD PINE.— 2. 

There are sliadows, often, from wandering 
clouds, that fall upon the world I see ; deepening 
the green of summer or darkening the snows of 
winter. Lingering they will intensify, or they 
will pass, till the fields again are all flooded in 
sunshine, or thrown into an equal ohscurity. The 
old Pine has watched in the same way shadows 
of feeling, and passion, falling upon the human 
heart, covering the sunshine of its life, or perhaps 
only flinging new shades of greater beauty aroufid 
it. But the colors, whether bright or dark, will 
surely fade, and the life exist again as before, un- 
conscious that, for a time, its being was wholly 
altered. 

There is love, and joy, and peace, and gaiety, 
and mirth in the world below ; and there is sor- 
row and mourning, disappointment and death. 
Full many a brave heart that has worked haid and 
cheerfully against life's ills ; full many a reckless 



254 WHISPEEINGS OF 

one tliat lias gone carelessly in life's prosperity ; 
are garnered now within some of those graveyards, 
that spring from the quiet meadows. They sleep 
there— the pleasures and the pains, the hopes, the 
disappointments of life, alike for them closed. 
Down in that nearer yard I sometimes linger, at 
twilight, with my shadow. I know each name 
that is carved upon the tombstones. Thank God, 
my Ellen yet lives ; but beneath that plain white 
marble stone sleeps the girl, that ever clung so 
closely to her, the young and timid Jennie. In 
the flower of her youth she died. Ellen was still 
among our hills then, and once, and twice, when 
she came to see me, I saw a tear drop on her 
proud cheek. 

" What is it, Ellen ? " I asked. 

'' Haven't you noticed it, old Pine," she whis- 
pered. " Our Jennie is going to die." 

" And if she does, Ellen, have not I known a 
hundred such girls as poor Jennie to die? The 
old Pine is naturally a mourner, and I will wail 
for her, as I have wailed for the others. But, 
Ellen, did not you know it, you are going to die, 
too ; and when that hour comes the difference be- 
tween yours and Jennie's death will seem so little, 
darling, that I wish, oh ! my beautiful girl, I could 
entreat you to think more of the Heaven above, 
and less of the earth below. Ah ! Nellie, you're 
a bright girl yet. Sorrow, the sorrow that comes 
from mortality, has left you still untouched, 
but " 



AN OLD PINE. 256 

'' E"o more of your buts, Sir Pine. If Jennie 
dies, I'll plant some violets on her grave. But I 
don't think Jennie will die. She's too younsc. 
She'll get well I guess, or, if she doesn't, of what 
use are sighs from proud Ellen ? I didn't know 
before how much you excelled as a minister ! Do 
you want to kiss me this morning ? If you do, 
here's my cheek, or my brow, or my lips " 

" Or, better yet, your waist, my E'en ! " It 
was Kenneth that at that moment sprang to our 
side. 

" 1^0, no, no ! Kenneth, dear Kenneth, please 
don't. — Let me go," cried the young girl, in a voice 
that tore through the fibres of the leaves, so acute it 
was ; " let me go, I am not your E"ell. I tell you, 
Kenneth, let me go." His arm fell, and she 
stood before him, calm and beautiful. "I^ow," 
she said, " 1 am all a girl, yes, I am all a woman 
now. My heart is my own. Even the dear cord 
of love with which you tied it is broken, and never 
again will poor Ellen give her heart unasked." 

" Let's go home, Ellen." 

" I don't want to go yet, you may go." 

" But tliat cloud coming has rain in it. The 
air is now a bit damp, and, whatever else befalls, 
I should like little to see proud Ellen sick." 

The dark cloud that Kenneth ^^oi^^ted to 
kindled in the brightest fire as he spoke, but in the 
eves of the o'irl we saw a wilder lio-ht. She struck 
my huge trunk, as though her soft hand were of 
iron, and her fingers crept deej") into the bark. 



256 WHISPEEINGS OF 

" It is said now, and you too liave called me 
proud. Ay, and because, nerved by your voice, 
I would have saved my soul. Tell me, Kenneth, 
my blue-eyed boy, was that a time to call Ellen 
proud ? Did she touch the self-love — forgive me, 
dear Kenneth, — did she touch rudely your love, 
however true it might be for her ; but, if so, did 
she not rend her own heart, so that it seemed as 
if insanity would fill it ? My God knows I said 
it not in anger, or in pride ; and He knows how 
poor Ellen always humbles herself before Him." 

" It is the heart, and not the mouth that speaks, 
and if sweet Ellen had but watched the tone more 
closely, she would have found no proud there. But, 
I tell thee, Nelly darling, even for you, you have 
thought too intently about this. Your hand is 
hot, your face is flushed, and your brain " 

" Aches," said the girl, and again the wild fire 
shot through her eyes. 

" Come, Ellen, we will go home. Don't you 
feel those raindrops ? " Kennetli had taken her 
in his arms, to bear her away through the woods. 

When they came to the opening, where I 
could see them again, Ellen was walking, but his 
arm was firmly around her, and fondly, in the still 
air, I heard him say : 

" It's no use, N^elly, you may protest, and rebel, 
or worry your little brain as much as you please; 
as long, at least, as we roam together in these 
woods, I shall do as I have always done. You 



AN OLD PINE. 257 

cannot love me better than I love yon. Tliere's 
answer enongli for all your pretty tragedy ; and 
here npon us comes a rain, to turn the whole into 
a dismal comedy ; my I^elly." This last was 
whispered, whispered with a kiss; hut the old 
Pine didn't care. It loved them hoth, and I am 
too strong a tree, too great, and powerful, and 
healthy, ever to mistrust kisses, or blushes, or 
coquetting smiles. 



258 wmsPEEiNGs of 



XXV. 

WHISPERINGS OF AN OLD PINE.— 3. 

It was upon an antnmn day, several years after 
Bertha told me of lier betrothal, and I was sway- 
ing listlessly, in disagreeable idleness, as I some- 
times liave to, when I heard some twigs crackling 
below me in the mountain thicket. 'Twas a girl's 
step, and, looking, I saw a white hand clasp yon 
small tree, and the wayward 'Nelly swung herself 
across the little gorge there, and sauntered toward 
me. 

" How do you do, long-lost JSTelly ? " asked I. 

" Call me Ellen, Sir Pine, if you please. I^one 
call mo I^elly, nor ever shall, but Jennie and 
Bertha." 

." Miss Ellen, then, if you prefer. How do you 
do ? I haven't seen you for a long time." 

'^ I told you, Mr. Pine, to call me Ellen, not 
Miss Ellen." The proud beauty flung her head, 
and, flirting her dress skirt, lifted her foot upon a 



AN OLD PINE. 259 

little stump, to leave her ankle uncovered, except- 
ing by tlie white stocking. 

" Perhaps," said I, for I thought her tartness 
deserved a censure, " 'twould be more modest in 
you to keep your ankle covered." 

" And perhaps, Mr. Pine, I shall act my pleasure 
about that, and my pleasure is to leave it uncov- 
ered." As she spoke she drew up her dress nearly 
to the knee, and glanced down imperiously on the 
beautifully rounded leg. Tlien lifting down her 
foot, until the drapery covered it again, she came 
ap to me, laid her hand upon me, and spoke very 
kindly. 

" Pm very well, indeed, old friend, and have 
been all the time. I'm glad to see you looking so 
bale and green. In spite of her unkind ways, you 
-ove Nelly, don't you ? " 

" Indeed I do, sweet Ellen." 

" Do you want me to tell you a story, old 
Pine ? You must be lonesome up here, with no 
me to talk to." 

^' I would love to have you very much, if it were 
)nly to hear your voice." 

'' Tlien I will, and it shall be a true story, 
Lbout myself; for I know you like to hear about 
^our Ellen, who hasn't been to see you for so 
ong. Let me lay my head down here on your 
,rm, and if I tell some things you already know, 
^ou mustn't interrupt." 



1 



260 WHISPERINGS OF 



ELLEN'S STORY. 

" I remember it well, it was a beautiful clay of 
the early spring time. The swollen brooks sang, 
tbe early robins sang, and tlie bluebirds sang in 
tlie warm sunshine. Sap dropped briskly into 
the buckets. The liverworts were just a-starting, 
you know, Sir Pine, and I — perhaps you saw me, 
I guess you did see me, I saw you — and I was go- 
ing to school with Birdie. Let me see ; I had on 
that wood-colored calico dress, that you were im- 
pudent enough to say, once, I had made on pur- 
pose to show off my form — beautiful figure, those 
were the words. And then I wore a pretty hat, for 
I trimmed it myself, and a beautiful little collar 
that I worked myself, and a white pair of stock- 
ings, that I knit myself " 

" Take care, Ellen." 

" You take care yourself, old Pine. And a 
nice white petticoat, vdth a beautiful lace edging, 
that I designed myself, and — old Pine, some gai- 
ters thatonother bought for me. Don't you inter- 
rupt me again. Well, and I was going to school 
with Birdie. We were to have a new teacher that 
day. The one that had taught all winter was 
sick, real sick, old Pine. What makes you look 
so as if you wanted to kiss me ? There, I'll put 
my cheek down on yours so, and look up at your 
dreamy leaves ; — sick, and one of his classmates in 



AN OLD riNE. 261 

college liad come to take his place. I had not 
3een liim, but Jennie told me he was very hand- 
some ; so I determined he should be my bean, just 
IS all the college chaps, that teach onr school, al- 
^vays want to be." 

" Ah ! Ellen, Ellen, you were born too noble a 
^irl, to throw your life away in such poor tri- 
umphs. " 

" Just as all the college chaps that teach our 
school always want to be, I said. Sir Pine. "Well, 
3ver the muddy roads, by the remains of the al- 
most melted snow drifts, we picked our way 
along, and reached the school some little time 
before its commencing. The day was so warm 
Dutside, that, for the first time, there was no fire in 
:he old stove. I went directly to my seat, though 
oay little sister whispered : 

" ' Look, l!^elly, look, there he is, talking w^ith 
llenneth. Isn't he pleasant ? do look ; I'm going 
to love him — I know I shall. Why don't you look 
and see him ? ' 

" ' Because I don't want to,' replied I, pettish- 
ly, and, throwing my books on the seat, I raised 
the window and leaned out in the sunshine. 

'' ' I'm going down to see him ; mayn't I, 
Nelly ? ' 

" ' Yes, yes ; go, if you want to, child. Don't 
bother niQ, I'm listening to these birds.' 

^' ' 1 didn't mean to bother you, Nelly.' 

'' * And Nelly didn't mean to speak so foolish,' 



262 WHISPEEINGS OF 

I replied, drawing back to kiss lier. ' Go, now, if 
yoa want to, and see tlie new teacher.' 

" I tnrned around as she left me, and leaned 
out again. A robin hopped down upon the grass 
right before my window. I watched him as he 
pecked the damp earth, and then I looked away 
upon the mountains, with their evergreen sum- 
mits covered with snow, and above them, floating 
over their tops, the fleecy clouds. And I believe, 
in the delicious beauty of that spring morning, I 
really forgot the new teacher, to avoid looking at 
whom I had opened my window. A hand fell on 
my shoulder. 

" ' How do you like him, l^elly ? ' — 'twas Jen- 
nie's voice. 

" ' If you mean the new collegian, as I sup- 
pose you do, I haven't seen him yet. I am enjoy- 
ing this lovely morning whilst I can, watching 
this little robin here who has been winking at me 
for fifteen minutes, and bathing in this golden 
light my soft brown hair that you love so much 
to smooth.' I moved along. ' Lean out, too, 
Jennie ; isn't it lovely ? ' 

" ' Yes, very lovely ; but you're a queer girl, 
ISTelly, to be here fifteen minutes, and not look at 
the new teacher.' She was stroking my hair, and 
looking at me very solemnly with her sober eyes. 

" ' Don't look so serious about it, Jennie. 
What do you think I care about the stupid col- 



AN OLD PINE. 263 

lege boys ? But if you want me to, I'll look, to 
j)lease you.' 

'' ' 1 wish you would ; lie's very handsome.' 
" ' Poor girl ; I fear your little heart is get- 
ting all tangled up. Bew^are, my serious Jennie : 

" ' Men were deceivers ever ! ' 

" ' But j list look at him now ; he's looking 
toward us. Isn't he very handsome? Do look, 
please.' 

" ' I turned around, and met the eyes of the 
new teacher fastened upon me. Haughtily I re- 
turned the gaze — half scornfully, half seriously. 

" ' Don't you like him ? ' Jennie looked me 
seriously in the face, awaiting the reply. 

" ' Why, yes, foolish child, my own sweet 
Jennie ; I like the way he met my gaze very well 
indeed ; but w^hether I like him, I cannot tell that 
yet. My sister, though, seems to have wrought 
out her conclusions. She'll make a 'great flirt, I 
think. See, there she stands, with the biggest 
apple our basket had, waiting to give it to this 
new pet. It's too bad.' 

" ' I fear you're a little selfish, ISTelly.' 

" ' Don't hesitate so seriously in the accusation, 
if you do fear ; don't you know I am, you sweet 
goose? I always was. It wouldn't come from 
the heart, if I ever did anything that wasn't a lit- 
tle bit tinctured with selfishness ! ' I wound my 
arm around Jennie's waist. ' But you know that 



264: WHISPERINGS OF 

I am sorry for it all tlie time, and tlien God for- 
gives.' 

" ' Yes, yes. He does ; and I didn't mean what 
I said ; you aren't selfish, and never was.' 

" I pressed the hand, she put in mine. Guile- 
less Bertha had overcome what little hesitation 
she might have had, and finished frowning upon 
Kenneth, who had ventured to twist over his 
hand a dozen of her curls. With the large apple 
poised, she stepped before the teacher, and placed 
it in his hands. How would he receive it ? He 
leaned over and gave the young miss a kiss, which 
Kenneth, who had come over to bid us good morn- 
ing, declared was done most gallantly. 

" ' He will steal her heart from you ? ' I said to 
Kenneth. 

" ' H« will steal fair Ellen's heart from her.' 

Kenneth never called me proud, and I smiles 

and kisses, but no frowns, did I ever give to the 
blue-eyed Kenneth. 

" I looked petulantly upon the floor. ' How 
extremely unpleasant to have a sweet pet for a 
sister, who appropriates all the kisses ! ' 

'' ' Or nearly all ; ' said Kenneth, and he pulled 
the comb from my hair, and let it fall loosely over 
his own hand, and down upon the desk. ' Ken- 
neth knows of two she'll never get ; one for each 
of thy blushes, Ellen ! ' And he gave them, right 
there in the open school room, you impertinent 
Pine. Then, whilst a serious expression blended 



AN OLD PINE. 265 

with Ills smile, he moved away, leaving me to 
smother a flame that had been long silently glow- 
ing ; for I knew he loved, and would always love- 
most dearly, the golden curls. 

" ' I am inclined to think,' said I to Jennie, as 
I was gathering up my hair, ' from the manner 
in which he lets his deep eyes rest npou ns, that 
yonder new teacher is very envious of the kisses 
Kenneth gave me. It isn't vanity, but the truth, 
that makes me speak ; ' I added, laughing. ' It 
strikes me, that if he had more wit, he would 
venture, at least offer, to repeat them himself, 
instead of standing there, looking so absolutely 
enamored at a blushing country lass, and her hair 
down.' 

" ' But you wouldn't let him do it, would you, 
IS'elly ? ' 

" ' Wouldn't I ? and why shouldn't I, you 
frowning Puritan, if he did it handsomely, as 
Kenneth does ; though I think I should tell him 
to wait till we were alone some time. Come, 
come, darling, you needn't look so seriously cross 
at my humanity. By the sweet shade of sadness 
that's ever lurking in thine eye, I have told thee 
nothing but the truth, whether it be indefinitely 
right, or infinitely wrong. But see, lie's taking 
the ruler to rap for school. I wonder if he would 
dare to ferule me ? 'Twould be funny, wouldn't 
it, to have him hold my hand, and bruise away 
with that heavy ruler. I guess I'll provoke him 
12 



266 WHISPEEINGS OF 

to it. I will/ I repeated tins last with empliasis, 
for Jennie looked so incredulous, and would now 
liave remonstrated, had not the raps fallen to drive 
us to our seats. My little Birdie came and sat 
down by me, and from beneath her many ringlets 
she whispered that she was going to get her lessons 
all very good now, and then she bent over her 
books, and toiled on steadily, to win a smile, and 
a kiss perhaps, from one who had already won her 
childish heart. 

" How do you like my story, Sir Pine," asked 
Ellen. 

" Yery well, indeed," replied I, " as far as you 
have told it, which, I must think, is only the first 
chapter." 

" You must think just as you please, but it's 
all the story you'll get from me." 

" And why not tell me more, fair Ellen ? " 

" Because — I don't want to ; " she arose pettish- 
ly ; " but I'll send John up, and if he's a mind to 
tell you more, what success he had with the way- 
ward Ellen, he may." 

For an instant she gazed at the glowing sun- 
set ; then, looking up to me with a smile of inex- 
pressible sweetness, such as she was ever wont to 
wear after a frown, she said : 

" You're a real good old Pine, and I want a 
cone from you, as a keepsake. Drop me down 



one." 



So I dropped her down a nice one. 



AN OLD PINE. ' 267 

" Thank you," slie said, '' it's so pretty ; com- 
ins: from you, too. 'Twill be first rate to kindle a 
fire with, some cold morning ; " she added, wink- 
ing at me from over her shoulder, and disappeared 
in the deepening shadows of a twilight forest. 

The next morning I saw her stooping over 
where that little pine is, in the cottage yard, and 
when she rose she looked up at me, and waved 
her white 'kerchief. 

" May a kind Heaven always watch over and 
preserve the beautiful Ellen ; " was the answering 
prayer of the old Pine. 



268 WHISrEEINGS OF 



XXVI. 

WHISPERINGS OF AN OLD PINE.— 4. 

" Ellen sent me up to tell you tlie rest of her 
story, and how she came to let me call her Nelly." 

He was a handsome young man, standing there 
holding his hat, and the smi's rays glanced through 
my leaves, upon his chestnut hair. I did not won- 
der that Kenneth thought he would steal fair 
Ellen's heart. 

" I have never seen you so near before," he 
continued, letting his eye dwell upon my huge 
proportions, *' and ISTelly flattered not, when she 
called you the monarch of the woods. Say, grand 
old Pine, did ever any one climb to your top ? " 

" ^N'one but one, the blue-eyed Kenneth." 

" And is this dauntless lad, you speak of, the 
one who dares to call our Birdie his ? " 

" He dares to call the golden Birdie his, and 
it's golden Birdie's greatest joy, that Kenneth 
loves her so as to call her his ; and, more than that, 
the proud girl whom you now call JSTelly would 



AN OLD riNE. 269 

have flung aside all tlie scorn that ever wreathed 
her lips, to have had blue-ejed Kenneth call her 
his." 

'' That may all bo true, but the girl is mine 
now, old Pine, and I have been too long upon a 
friendless world, have felt too often its roughness, 
have grown, I fear, tpo rough myself, to hesi- 
tate about the sentiment. I saw Ellen, I loved 
her, I dared to woo her, and I have won her ; be 
it or be it not as you say, because she could not 
keep the lover she wished. Your Kenneth may 
be more a man than I ; his mind may be stronger, 
his moral worth greater. It is a fact, by Jove, it 
is a fact, that twice has he come silently, but 
sternly, I believe defiantly, in my path, and both 
times have I yielded to the demand he made. 
But then I liked the boy — liked — I love him, 
and if he would take IN'elly to-night, I would give 
Nelly to him, as joyfully as she would go." 

There was a pause of several minutes, till he 
spoke again. 

''Only the chivalrous Kenneth ever climbed 
you, old Pine. Perhaps Ellen will love me better 
that I too climbed her favorite tree. 

" It will not take me very long," he continued, 
seated on my topmost branch, " old friend of my 
sweet K'elly, to tell you all in my history that 
you wish to know. Away off north here, where 
the land mystifies with the sky, lies the home of 
my boyhood. There did I live till my thirteenth 



270 WHISPERINGS OF 

year, wlien, with, no reason but that I felt an in- 
tense desire to do as I pleased, I made a little 
bundle of my clotliing, and with it drifted off into 
the world. IIov/ far I drifted, or liow long, doubt- 
less you care as little to know, as I do to tell. 
But in all the sbiftings of my fortune, however 
doubtful was the future, I never felt a moment's 
gloom. I gloried in my youthful independence, 
and cast myself with the most entire reliance on 
my own ability and untried resources. 

'' Well, it was two years after I left home, in 
the fall of a presidential canvass, and, in the town 
I happened to be in, there was a bonfire, platform 
barrel, and a mass meeting. Every opportunity 
that offered, I swung my hat with a hurrah. In 
this way I was passing the, to me, worse than 
useless hours, for they were moulding a worth- 
less life ; when, among the speakers that came 
forth was a fine-looking man, of perhaps forty- 
five. He spoke, and cheer after cheer rose from 
the excited crowd ; but I, who had before been 
so uproarious, forgot my utterance, whilst I felt 
my whole soul fired with the tone and spirit 
that came from his genius. Ere he finished his 
speech, I had ceased to be a boy. The vagrant 
lad, resolved I, shall be a great lawyer, and, before 
many years, rouse the souls of others, as this man 
does mine. Filled with this newborn ambitiou, 
little caring how long the road, or how great tlic 
toil, when the meetifig broke up I followed the 



AN OLD PINE. 271 

man wlio liacl so entliralled me, and, confronting 
Iiim, asked wliat I must do to be as great a ma,n 
as lie. He looked at me in curious surprise, at 
tlie abruptness of tlie question, then answered : 

" ' You must study, my lad, long and dili- 
gently ! ' 

" ' So I suppose ; but wliat shall I study, how 
commence ? ' 

" ' Why, as to that — is your father alive ? ' 

'' ' Yes, sir.' 

" ' And cannot he direct you ? You seem Yan- 
kee-born.' 

" ' That I am, sir, born in the Green Mountain 
State, and proud of my birth as a hen is of an 
angle worm. But, you see, my father and I are 
at variance ; that is, I left a couple of years ago, 
he being disposed to treat me as a small boy, 
which I wa'n't, and I him as an old gentleman, 
which he was fast becoming. Since then I have 
lived indifferently well, and completely hapj)y, 
floating mostly where I've been shoved, until to- 
night, hearing you, I determined to become a 
lawyer, and take my turn in pushing others ; and, 
whether you guide me or not, I shall begin to- 
night, surely to succeed.' 

'' ' Come to my room to-morrow,' he replied. 
"We will see what may be done.' 

" Well, the next day I went to his room. Yery 
directly we came to an agreement — I to serve him 
to the best of my ability, aad he to assist mo on 



272 WHISPEEINGS OF 

in the education and position I sought. My own 
part I did faithfully ; on his, there was a collegiate 
education given cheerfully, and a junior partner- 
ship in one of the best-established law firms in 
the Buckeye State. 

" 'Twas during my collegiate course, which I 
made in my own State, coming on the Spring term 
as you remember, that I accepted in the place of 
a sick roommate the part of teacher in your 
school. But it's where I first saw Ellen, that you 
would know. 

" The morning that opened school was a mild 
morning, one of those Spring days, when the soft 
air that blows around and melts the snow drifts, 
creeps into and melts the heart. So it did mine. 
I remember, as I walked toward the small school- 
house, I felt myself more than half inclined to 
love every mountain damsel who might become 
my scholar. And fancy, always ready to soar some- 
what above impulse, would fain paint one among 
them altogether lovely, who by degrees should 
verge from a smiling idol into a frowning wife. I 
entered the schoolroom door, but though many a 
plump face and rosy cheek turned rosier from 
amy ardent gaze, not one of them all, I sighed 
despondently as I felt it, could by any art of im- 
agination be changed into the ideal maiden I 
wanted to love. Little knew I, when I sighed, 
how perfect a beauty of form and feature the 
mountain dell had nourished. 



AN OLD PINE. 273 

" ' There comes Ellen,' lisped a blue-eyed rogue 
by me, ' I'm going to kith her ; ' and he paddled off 
toward the just opened door. My eyes followed, 
and drank in the beautiful vision that has been 
hovering over my heart, just ready to fall and 
smother it, ever since. 

" The little girl that entered with her, and who 
I knew must be her sister, soon came to me with 
an apple large enough for a thanksgiving pie, and 
teased my heart so sadly with her golden curls, 
that I could not but toss them back, and give her 
a kiss. "When I raised my eye, blue-eyed Kenneth 
stood laughing over the blushing Ellen, her hair 
lying on her neck, kissing her as if she, too, were 
a child. So naively, yet so modestly did she let 
him do it ; from that instant, no fly was ever 
more completely entangled in the meshes of a 
web, than my heart in the meshes of her flowing 
hair. 

" Xow, my venerable friend, as you doubtless 
think, this was all natural enough ; but, and it was 
a tremendous but, your roaming beauty did not 
seem to care a rye for me. 'No one could have 
helped seeing that the proud Ellen had a supreme 
dislike, if not a lurking contempt for the ruling 
pedagogue. However ardently my eye would rest 
upon her, if she noticed it at all, it was always 
with a frowning face. However kindly I ad- 
dressed her, a slight manner of contempt and de- 
cided coldness met me, in answer. All of this, if 
10* 



274 WHISPEEINGS OF 

witli tliis slie liad been content, I conld have borne, 
trusting to time, and tbe constant effect wliicli so 
Strong a love as mine must be silently having, for 
a gradual change. But she, as if a natural dislike 
had intensified into spite, did all she could, not 
rudely but incessantly, to disturb the quiet of the 
school. She would violate every regulation that 
I made, and do it so conspicuously, that even the 
youngest knew it was purposely done, and to irri- 
tate me. For days I overlooked it all, hoping that 
her natural goodness and feeling of fitness would 
in time fling its own restraint around her. Then, 
finding that it did not, I tried to reason with her 
kindly. With a disdainful toss of her head she 
thanked me for my advice, and the interest I 
seemed to take in her character. 

" At recess one afternoon, — more flagrantly an- 
noying than usual had she been, — whilst she leaned 
alone out of the window, I went up beside her, and 
taking her hand that lay on the sill, waited for her 
to look up. For several moments she moved not, 
until I spoke. 

" ' Miss Lawrence ! ' 

'' She drew in her head, and I thought half 
kindly said, ^ It's you, is it ? ' and looked down at 
tlie hand I scarcely held. An instant, delicious 
moment, she pressed the whole palm on mine, then 
drew it quickly from me, waiting with half-averted 
face. 

" ' I wish to request once more, Miss Ellen,' I 



AN OLD PINE. 275 

had never called lier aught but Miss Lawrence 
before, ' that you would please not to break again 
the rules of the school.' 

She stood tapping her foot upon the floor, and, 
as I ended, turned abruptly away. The pressure 
of her hand and the kindness of her tones yet 
lingered, thrilling through my veins ; but my own 
self-esteem and my dignity with the school must 
not yield to love or passion. I called her again, 
and told her peremptorily, that she mtcst obey the 
regulations of the scliool, or suffer the penalties of 
their breaking. Her proud lip curled, and her 
blue eye flashed, that involuntarily I drew back. 

" ' You dare to threaten a girl ! ' she said, in a 
tone so low, and yet so sweet, that I almost knelt 
before her. ' Tell me, when you please, and I will 
leave your school ; or, if you wish it, my hand is 
yours to ferule, but never again threaten me or 
talk with me upon this subject : I wish to hear, 
and I loill hear no more.' 

" Now, or never, must my authority succeed 
with the girl, thought I, as I called the school to 
order ; and waiting till there was silence through- 
out, so that all might hear, I told plainly, that if 
any schohirs, during the remainder of the after- 
noon, should leave their seats without permission, 
or otherwise wilfully disturb the school, I cared 
not who it was, they should be punished. Hardly 
had I sat down before Ellen arose, and, looking an 
instant directly at me, walked across the scliool- 



276 WHISPERINGS OF 

r:om. I had expected it, that is, I had vaguelj 
feared it, and had she, when she did it, worn upon 
her face the look of scorn or of derision that so 
often rested there, I think I conhl have called her 
directly out, and dismissed her from school. But 
in her eye, as it met mine, I saw no such feeling, 
rather, I thought, a hue of sadness, almost of love, 
and the mist of a concealed tear. I felt my whole 
soul melting. I dared not risk my voice, I knew 
that all the school were looking at me. Scarcely 
knowing what I did, I walked across the room to 
where Ellen had gone. Leaning over her, so that 
none else might hear, I asked : 

" ' Will you, Ellen, oblige me this once, and 
go back to your seat ? ' 

" She answered, ' Yes.' I thought her wilful- 
ness was gone, but by the time she regained her 
seat, the old look of disdainful indifference re- 
turned to her face. 

" "What should I do ? Ferule the beautiful 
girl w^hom I loved so dearly ? No, no ; I could 
never do that. Must 1 then dismiss her from the 
school ? What, pluck the sweetest flower from 
the garland, because in its beauty it would not lie 
as I wished it. And yet I had threatened punish- 
ment ; I cannot suffer her any longer to remain as 
she has remained. Thus gloomily I pondered 
until school was dismissed, all but Ellen Lawrence, 
who, I said, would remain. 

" Kenneth came to me. I had seen his half- 
thoughtful look since recess. 



AN OLD PINE. 277 

" ' It may be riglit or it may be wrong,' be 
said, ' but tbe fairest girl of our moimtains sball 
never be feruled, and I near.' There was no ex- 
citement in bis manner, no bluster in bis voice, 
nothing but kindness in its tone ; but a heart 
that never flinched had strung every nerve to de- 
fend the girl it loved. 

" ' You need not fear,' I replied ; ' no ferule by 
my hand shall ever touch her.' 

" He left the room, and I was alone with El- 
len, her dearest friend Jennie, and little Bertha. 
Half in tears, and half in frowns, the golden curls 
spoke : 

" ' You mustn't hurt Nelly. If you do, I'll 
never love you any more, nor let you kiss me, nor 
give you any apples.' 

" ' You and Jennie may both leave.' 

'' I spoke quickly. Ellen, who had stood 
holding her bonnet by the ribbon, motioned to 
Jennie to go. Then, raising her blue eyes to mine, 
she said, very calmly, and I thought kindly : 

'' ' My sister will remain. If you wish more 
of me, you can speak now.' 

" ' You heard what I said this afternoon : that 
no one should leave their seat without permission ? ' 

'' ' Certainly I did.' 

'' ' And you left yours immediately ? ' 

" ' Yes.' 

" ' May I ask you if you tliink it was Lind ? ' 
She frowned again. 



278 WHISPEEIN-GS OF 

" ' I haven't any thouglits to give about it. 
You threatened punishment — there's my hand ; ' 
-and she placed her soft hand in mine. ' Take off 
my ring, please, before you strike.' 

'' A small blush was on her cheek ; all her 
scorn had faded as a cloudlet does in the sky. 
Before I strike? Again I bent over her, and 
whispered, with all the fervor of a lover : ' Ellen, 
dear Ellen, ever since I began school you have 
done all that you could, purposely, to irritate me. 
You ought to say you are sorry for it. But if you 
will not, my authority as a teacher compels me to 
bid you leave school ; but know, beautiful girl, that, 
doing so, you cast from you the love of one who 
would love you forever, if he could.' 

" 1 raised her hand to my lips, and kissed it, 
and then turned hastily away. A thousand tears 
were struggling to flow. I stood leaning on the 
window. A hand fell upon my shoulder. I knew 
the breath that came against my cheek, and she 
whispered : 

" ' I'm not sorry a bit, but if you'll let me 
stay, I'll be ever so good all the rest of the term.' 
And then she raised her hand to brush the hair 
from off my forehead, and let it rest there upon my 
brow. I could hesitate no longer. My arm wound 
around her waist. I drew her to my heart. Ever 
since then, old Pine, I have called her Nelly." 

" And little Bertha, the golden pet, where was 
she ? " 



AN OLD riNE. 279 

" Capering off down the road to find her Ken- 
neth, as she said, for she knew he was waiting for 
her." 

" And did you tell Ellen what Kenneth had 
said ? " 

" Yes." 

" What said she ? " 

" Nothing, she only trembled. But when we 
met Kenneth, with the curls waving by him, she 
flung her arms around his neck, and kissed him. — 
'No mistake, but you have a lofty view up here, 
and a long w^ay it is down your pitchy side. Swing 
me with your boughs again. 

" What say you now, giant of the forest, did 
none but the- blue-eyed Kenneth ever climb your 
top ? Long freedom from the lightning's bolt, and 
many kisses from your favorite pet." 

He waved his hat, and Ellen's lover disap- 
peared among the bushes. A manly fellow, mut- 
tered I, and if it must be so, then let him be j)roud 
Ellen's mate ; but the old Pine never could love 
him as it loves the blue-eyed Kenneth. 



280 THE YANKEE EOT 



XXVII. 

Pakis, December 15, 1862. 

My dinner, this afternoon, 1 liad at an " £ta- 
blissement de Bouillon," 7 Rue de Seze, but two 
minutes' walk from the Madeleine. I often go 
there myself, and have taken quite a number of 
American friends there. The cooking we consider 
fully equal to Demory's, the price cheaper, vary- 
ing from four to fifteen cents a plate, in accordance 
to whether you take potatoes or turkey. The res- 
taurant, itself, is a small second-class one, but 
everything that connects with your eating is thor- 
oughly neat. I would advise any man going to 
Paris, who wishes to live economically, to take 
the number. It may save him much expense, and 
many poor meals. This afternoon I went, in com- 

j)any with my friend from G , Mass., to the 

Cemetery of Pere-la-Chaise. It has a dismal 
enough effect, as compared with Mount Auburn 
or Greenwood with us, and, excepting the view 



FEOil HOME. 281 

of Paris that it commands, lias little connected 
with it pleasing to the eye. Having finished our 
walk, we had some rice and milk, which we got very 
good at a small cremerie in the Rue Neuve des 
Petits Champs, for four cents the cup. Buying 
some jewelry detained us perhaps an hour, waiting 
for an omnibus another quarter, when we came 
together, through the gay centre of the city, to 
our part. The Coloniel failed us on fire : " il 
n'etait pas chez lui." However, time and pluck 
will do almost anything. A Yankee fire burned at 
last that gloweth yet. "We ourselves sat by it, 
and talked the evening away. 'No news from 
home to-day, with a boat due since last Saturday. 
What reports the morning shall bring we await. 
The clock strikes twelve. 

Wednesday afternoon, 5 I^ue de la Paix. — We 
have the home news this morning to December 8. 
I saw it first at the cafe where I was taking a 
chocolate breakfast ; the opening of Congress, a 
pretty complete synopsis of tlie Message, and the 
reported loss of a brigade in Tennessee. This last, 
a Massachusetts man by me now says, comes 
through England, taken from the Times. He 
adds, emphatically, that he does not believe a 
word of it. As I meet them, as I have met them 
all the time for the last two years, Americans, this 
side, keep themselves even more than at home 
wholly American. With but one or two very 
weak exceptions, they express no doubt as to the 



282 THE YANKEE BOY 

right, and absolute necessity of carrying on tlie 
war, with the utmost vigor, to a successful termi- 
nation. My intercourse with Americans has not 
been so extensive as it might. Yet, in the whole, 
I have met a large number, representing almost 
every condition of life ; men of wealth, travelling 
for pleasure ; men of professions, travelling for 
learning ; men of business, travelling for wealth ; 
men whom the restless spirit of adventure, or ad- 
verse fortune, has cast upon the world, to win 
their life as they best can ; I have met and tallied 
intimately with all. The unanimity with which 
they have spoken of the war, as something that 
we must carry through unflinchingly to its natural 
termination ; has, perhaps, more than anything 
else, given me the assurance that our nationality 
is founded on a rock, and that, in its certain time, 
there will come again to our fair Flag the joy of 
perfect victory, to the Great Republic the happi- 
ness of righteous peace. 

Cliristmas night. — Come now, my golden pen, 
and write once more about Parisian scenes before 
you cross again to England. As you and I be- 
come more acquainted, we should the better un- 
derstand the mutual laws that bind our friendship. 
I will try to recollect, you can hardly always write 
with equal zest, and you must recollect, certain 
restrictions must sometimes govern you. You 
need not protest, you shall talk about your loves 
occasionally, and you shall sing about whatever 



FEOM HOME. 283 

you like. If you see a liandsome eye, you may 
mention it. If you sec a lock of liair, golden as 
yourself, you shall surely tell of it. Trusting to 
your aristocracy, you sliall say leg always, and 
never limb. But, my pen, ^renez garde^ if you 
attempt again, as you did last week, to discuss the 
literary merit of the day. It's all well enough, I 
know, for you to hear the hornets buzz, but it's all 
bad enough for me to feel them sting. Besides, 
my grandfather often told me, as I now tell you, 
always to be civil. And besides all that, suppose 
the poetry of Longfellow is a reflection, well re- 
flected, but faint, and unsatisfying, can it deepen 
in intensity, or take to itself originality, because 
of your criticism ? Ah ! you foolish pen, you 
were mighty uncivil last week. 

How; can't I tell the truth? Dare any say I 
lied as regards Longfellow's poetry? In that 
English edition of Holmes, that you read to me, 
does not almost every line decrease in merit, each 
time you read them, until they become utterly 
worthless ? AYere not those stories in the Atlantic 
Monthly, that you labored at reading, horrible ? 
"Was not the poetry something worse than horrible : 

" She was there, and then she wasn't ; 
Sing fiddle dum, sing fiddle dee. 
She was here, and now she isn't ; 
Bow, wow, wow, and woe is me." 

for the first; and Big Bethel, with its columns 



284: THE YANKEE BOY 

forward, rolling along in its poetical wa; <. 

lialf-fllattenecl stone down a moderate liill, for the 
next ? ^' That's not bad," said the Colonel of the 
first verses. '' That don't mean much," said he, 
of the middle ; '' and that doesn't mean anything — 
Stop ! " 

" 'And the soul of our comrade shall sweeten the air.' " 

"ISTo, it doesn't mean anything," he said, of 
the last. Heaven ..keep me from the pen of a fine 
woman, was all I said, when yon suggested Mrs. 
Stowe. That was civil, wasn't it ? She did get 
off a good thing once, though, on waltzing ; how 
was it ? " Save the inherent improprieties, or sin 
(I forget), connected with the waltz, there was 
nothing improper," etc. Again, you may do w^hat 
you like, but I'll not take the afiirmative in the 
defence of any live poet, English or American, 
except Whittier, and, whoever it was that wrote 
those I^egro melodies, and American songs, his 
name almost unknown, his songs sung wherever 
the English language is spoken. Eh ! doth your 
heart warm when you hear them ? 

" "Way down upon the Suwanee river, 
Far, far away ! " 

Or will you give another tear to sweet Alice, sweet 
Alice, with hair hazel brown ? Does your Alice 
lie in the graveyard ? Say, tell me, does she lie 
there ? My dear girl, is your Willie on the deep 



FKOM HOME. 285 

blue sea? or have you ever been in a foreign land, 
and beard the song started : 

" Good news from home, good news for me ? " 

We have had our Christmas exercises at the 
church to-day. I thought, as I looked down from 
the gallery, that the audience was unusually good, 
and the church very prettily trimmed. Again, 
the singing was fine, decidedly so, with the solo 
singing of Mrs. H. from E^ew York. I want, too, 
to add a word of thanks, in which I feel sm'e that 
every attendant at our church will join, to Dr. 
Crane, who now for years has gratuitously and 
most attentively acted as organist, and perhaps, 
more than any one else as leader of our choir. 
Among the choir girls, I notice several faces that 
were familiar to me in the same places, two years 
ago. With the natural delight of an American 
girl, they love to occupy themselves here, as at 
home. "New faces attest the same princij)le ; oui* 
choir knows itself a complete thing. We have, 
of course, our little flirtations. I confess mvself 
disposed to cotton with a black silk dress that 
has red spots. I spoke to it the other day, when 
we were trimming our church ; it answered me 
right merrily. 



286 THE YANKEE BOT 

IN MEMORIAM. 

A SONG OP THE GKEEN MOUNTAINS, VEBMONT. 

See, Jane, the water o'er tlie pebbles go, 

Watcli, Jane, the waters, awkwardly they flow ; 

Look, Jane, at the boulder, ere you further go. 

Give me your hand, Jane, the water runs below. 

Don't mind its slippery top, I will be your jo ; 

Spring to my arms, Jane : " Catch me then, O 

I was made for my laddie, and my laddie's made for me, 

I will jump into his arms, and take his kisses free- 

Ly, I will, yes I will, tra la la la la la la, 

I will, yes I will, tra la la la la la lay ; 

I will, yes I will, tra la, etc., 

I will, yes I will, whatever folks may say." 

Closely, Jane, closely, your cheeks begin to glow, 

Steady, Jane, steady, there's hardly room, you know ; 

Fondly, Jane, fondly, before the moments go, 

Careful, Jane, careful, the water rolls below ; 

Sing, Jane, bewitchingly, as the roses blow. 

Sing, Jane, lovingly, as the waters flow : 

" O I'm born for my laddie, and my laddie's born for me, 

I will nestle in his arms, and sing right merrily ; 

I will, yes I will, tra la, etc., 

I will, yes I will, tra la, etc., lay ; 

I will, yes I will, tra la, etc., 

I will, yes I vsdU, whatever folks shall say." 

Ah ! Jane, dear Jane, the moments fast have run. 
Ah ! Jane, dear Jane, yon mountains have the sun ; 
Jane, Jane, my own Jane, you must sweetly know, 
Constantly your bosom swells against me now ; 



TEOM HOME. 287 

Sing, Jane, honestly, as falls tlie glittering snow, 

Sing, Jane, dreamily, as stars that tT\'inkle slow : 

*' Yes, I'm born for my laclclie, and my laddie's born for me, 

I will sleep within his arms, and dream there happily ; 

I icill, yes I will, when I love my laddie well, 

I will, yes I will, tra la, etc., lay ; 

I will, yes I will, O my laddie '11 never tell ; 

I will, yes I will, whatever folks might say." 

(Paeis, December 28, 1862.) • 



288 THE YANKEE BOY 



XXVIII. 



Wasliington Hotel, Liverpool. ) 
January 10, 1863. f 

Once again, whilst in a foreign land, I write ; 
but the ticket lies firmly in my pocket book, that 
shall carry me by the next steamer to Boston. 
Perhaps it is this thought, as well as the elegant 
comfort of this hotel, that makes me feel so alto- 
gether tranquil. To-day I have been busily going 
over the city, in domg my last shopping. 

Such a lot of pretty girls as I saw ! I have 
noticed it every time I have been here at Liver- 
pool. Why, confound their red petticoats ! Con- 
found the furs they wear ! Confound them ! — Ah ! 
yes, my lady, you are right. I am in love with 
you. Egad ! I am in love with you all over, from 
the hat, to the gaiter ; for you're a splendid little 
creature. But then, it's impossible ; I must go up 
this road, so if you go that, here's to your beauty — 
God bless you — and I'll tell, upon my word I will, 



FEOM HOME. 289 

how the wind blew your dress, when you came 
around the corner. 

Ou board ship, Friday evening, 6th day. 

We've had a merry evening all since dinner, 
and indeed we have a merry party on our ship, 
with two young ladies from Kew York to keep 
our cabin polite, and their father, an elderly gen- 
tleman, of, I understand, high business position, 
to sustain our character for literature and hio;h- 
toned civility. The captain has gravity enough 
for the whole Cunard line, and always runs his 
ship at ten knots an hour. 

I guess I'll dash away at a few more of our 
company. Opposite me at dinner is a Pennsyl- 
vanian, an unmarried man, I judge, of about thir- 
ty-five. He believes in gin-slings as a remedy for 
all complaints, enjoys a good story at any time, 
and will tell one himself after a full dinner. At 
his left are two Englishmen, the one at the left a 
gentleman of about sixty, a remarkable illustration 
of a fox-hunting, John Bull Englishman. Portly 
in his form, florid in his complexion, he growls 
incessantly at the stupidity of the cooks, at the 
incivility of the captain, at the making of the ship, 
or the working of the weather. At the same time 
he often does, or says a civil thing most civilly. 
Our ladies number in all five, but two of them 
rarely rise to the cabin ; I believe the youngest 
girl didn't come up till the third day. I saw her 
13 



290 THE YANKEE EOT 

then enter the cabin most coquettishlj, and heard 
her declare that she wonld not stay down any 
more. A shrewd Boston chap, a strong Quaker, 
and a live marquis, with two young lieutenants, 
going to join their regiments in Canada, fill up, 
with the captain and ladies, the next table. The 
third table, as it is to my back, I see little of, but 
I have noticed it has a strong French accent from 
one Frenchman, and three 'New Orleans Ameri- 
cans. A Scotchman, and Hungarian, and fonr 
young men from IN^ew York State, are mixed in. 

" The English fog damps the decks, yon know, 
a little, but the American sim will dry it," I hear 
the Quaker say to the ladies, in urging them to a 
promenade on the deck. 

The day j^asses in the cabin with games of 
chess, checkers, v/hist, or euchre, and perhaps a 
fair amount of reading and conversation. Of 
course we all give way to the meals. Breakfast 
at eight o'clock ; cold lunch at noon ; dinner at 
fonr ; tea at six ; and supper as one wishes, from 
eight to ten. 

Ninth day^ Sunday. — Tliis morning we had 
service on board, and are having now a quiet 
Sunday. We bid fair to arrive Thursday, per- 
haps Wednesday night. Yesterday I sketched the 
cabin, but, on onr ship at least, the smoke room is 
as well worthy a sketch. Of itself it can claim 
little honor, and less beauty ; small, with a rough, 
flooring, and only four nncushioned benches to 



FEOM HOME. 291 

line the sides. Through the day various cigars 
burn themselves here, and perhaps some slang 
talk, and some sensible, mingles in with their 
ashes. But when the dinner is passed, the last 
nuts cracked, the oranges sugared and eaten, and 
waiting apples given to the pocket ; then comes 
the smoker's desire for a cigar, and the general 
desire for a frolic after so good a dinner. Last 
night more than on any previous one, a large 
crowd gathered to the smoke room. There had 
been a rumor of success in song and repartee 
the previous night, that drew this evening a full 
audience. Song and repartee again flew. To me 
college days had come back with their reckless 
joviality. We all joined in Auld Lang Syne to 
their honor. At this point the English ensign 
took a lively thought. He sprang aside to the 
marquis. We heard him proposing a bagpipe. 
There was a general shout : " Yes, yes, bring it on, 
hurrah for the bagpipe ! " The demand was too 
strong to be refused. The marquis left, to return 
with the veritable bagpipe. But oh ! that music ! 
It was irresistible. It filled the smoke room with 
a Saturnalia that lasted some two hours. I noticed 
that while the dance was the most tremendous, the 
ladies gathered outside for a peep. I overheard one 
of them say, she could scarcely keep from dancing 
herself, when the music and the partners were both 
so abundant. 

Tuesday afternoon — and as beautiful a day as 



292 THE TAl^KEE BOY 

ever dawned ; our ship going swiftly, with her 
sails set, along the coast, to Boston. 

This morning several French songs from a 
neighboring berth aroused me from sleep. There 
was no jar of engines, there was no roll of ship. 
The sense of land stole upon me. In my delight I 
sang out, in French, to Eobert, who is our stew- 
ard : 

" Hey, Eobert, toi que j'aime, est-ce que nous 
sommes arrives ? " 

" Yoila, Yermont, oui, oui, nous sommes ar- 
rives. 

I recognized the 'New Orleans accent, and 
sang with a Paris opera song : 

" Sous le beau ciel de la France, 
Danser, bailer, sauter, 
Gigotter, 
Tra la la," etc. 

But we are here under the beautiful heaven of 
America. My thoughts jump from France with a 
buoyant spring. I hurry for the deck. Once more, 
thank God, beneath the light of those fair stars, I 
see my country : 

" America, of thee, 
Sweet land of liberty. 
Of thee I sing." 

There never was a fairer sight than that 
I^orthern bay appeared in the cold morning. It 



^- EEOM HOME. 293 

was now about six o'clock. Tliey were slowly- 
pulling the ship alongside the dock. The Eno-lish- 
man that sat oj)posite to me at the table, and I, 
landed together from the ship. A ISTova Scotian 
wagon — I will hardly call it American, it looked 
so Frenchj — was waiting for a job. The English 
gentleman wanted to drive to some hotel for a 
breakfast, for, as he expressed it, the ship living 
had become damn disagreeable. I wanted to drive 
anywhere, in my own country again. "We got in 
together, and in the coming daylight drove to the 
hotel. The barroom fire glowed from its grate ; 
large armchairs stood near it ; the latest Halifax 
paper was on the counter, with the book for names 
of visitors. After nine days at sea I take the pa- 
per for the latest news ; but hear my English 
friend, in the mean time, attending to the breakfast : 

" No matter what ; some fish, and some chops, 
or a beefsteak, and some ham, and some boiled 
rice — that goes well with chops — and some eggs — 
mind, fresh eggs ; and give us good coffee — that 
damn cofiee on the ship is disgusting — and, I say, 
waiter, two plates of toast." 

Breakfast over, we walked to the height back 
of the town, where the fortifications are. "Wo met 
here the English lieutenants, like ourselves out foi^ 
a walk. They had had breakfast on board the 
ship. From the hill we looked down on frozen 
fields. There was no snow. Low, long ledges 
were beyond that looked Arctic enough. An 



294: THE YANKEE BOY 

American burying ground, marked witli stones 
and small evergreens, was near by, in the mead- 
ows. In returning to the sbip, we each of ns 
made several purchases for friends at home. 

Last night we had a semi-political meeting in 
the cabin. " God save the Queen " and " The 
Star-spangled Banner " blended in together very 
good-naturedly. 

Boston town, Hevere House, 11 ddock, Thurs- 
day evening. — Om' boat came in last night. A 
rainy day to-day. I leave to-moiTOW. 

Friday night. — " Father, come to supper," 
and father came half down the stairs before he 
thought he was called by one he supposed in 
Europe. He cautioned me to stop. My sister 
was unwell. He would see her first, so as not 
to disturb her too suddenly. It was no use: 
'twas Josey's voice. She knew it was Josey's 
voice she heard. And we all met again as we 
had parted : 

" Oh ! may our song still be 
Nearer, our God, to tliee, 
Nearer to thee." 



THE END. 




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